The taxi was parked in the corner of a half-lit lot near Ipswich town centre, just outside Paddy Power. If someone's horse came in, they tended to tip well. The radio was on, but low — just the soft hum of late-night traffic reports and football pundits filling air.
The driver sat with a tea he hadn’t touched.
His phone buzzed.
New email. Don't recognize the sender address.
Subject: Point Nemo.
He opened it.
One photo. Water to the horizon.
No land. No wake. No movement.
Below it, the message:
“It was flat as glass. No wind. No sound. Just sky and water. Like the planet had stopped spinning.”
The driver stared at it for a while.
Then typed a reply.
“You're a proper traveler. Everyone seems to go to the same places these days. Hey, if you need a ride back from Heathrow, bell me."
He thought a moment, then added:
“12 degrees here. Drizzling. Slight wind.”
He looked out through the windscreen.
Yeah.
That sounded about right.
He clicked 'Send'.