You grasp the handle of the letter opener and run your fingers over the artistically engraved grooves on its side. The feeling sends you back to your mother’s office. You watch as her hands glide over the keys of an old typewriter: old for today’s standards, yet brand-new at the time. Soft clicking noises fill the air, the sound of worlds created, of places described in such vivid detail that you could have sworn you had been there before. Your fingers run themselves down the handle again, leaving you to drink in every detail of the cramped room. The clicking stops and you are brought back to reality, staring down at the letter opener. You stuff it back into the backpack and pick it up, ready to leave the house, when a single chime echoes through the house. It's already eight! You should have been at work by now. As you walk out the door you hear ringing behind you, but you have no time to answer it. You get in your car and speed down the driveway, driving down the narrow, winding streets as quickly as possible. But as you are about to enter the motorway a torrent of cars blocks your way. Gritting your teeth, you face your options. You could stay here and hope that the traffic clears, but you can't afford to waste more time: today is your big day. A street to the side of the road catches your eye - maybe you could take a detour?