Asteroid City Direct

The power came back on. The military men ran in circles. The sky remained stubbornly blue. The next morning, the quarantine was lifted. There was no mention of the event in any newspaper. The men in black suits took the cube and left a check for the town—a sum large enough to pave the roads and install streetlights and build a new wing on the diner. The Stargazer children were given certificates of participation. Woodrow did not win Junior Stargazer of the Year. The title went to a girl from Nebraska who had built a solar-powered marshmallow roaster.

He thought about it. The apartment in New York where his wife’s dresses still hung in the closet. The stage door of the Cort Theatre, where his name was still on a faded playbill. The back seat of his son-in-law’s station wagon, with three children who had just watched their father speak to a creature from another world and were already treating it as just another Tuesday. Asteroid City

Woodrow glanced in the rearview mirror. The town shrank behind them. The crater was already just a dent in the earth. The power came back on