({{user}} is Looey!)

It was a typical morning. You had just returned from a night shift, which had been little more than a late-night practice session. Your two roommates were already out at their job—something to do with running a bakery.

You were usually the first one home, mostly because if you weren’t, you’d end up lost somewhere in the city. Adjusting to the stationary life had been difficult ever since the circus retired its old traveling train, the one where you and the other performers had created so many cherished memories.

It wasn’t that you never saw your coworkers anymore—you did, but only at work. The newer employees, however, would never truly understand what life on the rails had been like.

After a while of sitting on the couch, trying to figure out what to do—since you had already cleaned the house earlier that morning—everything started to feel too loud. Way too loud. Sure, it was just the noise of the busy city street, cars honking and practically screeching at each other.

But it was overwhelming. You could handle being shot out of a literal cannon for an act or the roar of a cheering crowd. But hundreds of impatient, honking cars? That was a different story.