Luna recounts a late autumn night at a diner on Harvester Road in the small town of Millbrook, New York. A man in a gray coat sits at the counter, orders black coffee and toast, and speaks of a road that loops back on itself. He says he's been driving since dusk. As she wipes the counter, she notices his hands are clean, no calluses, no rings. He asks if she's ever seen a place that forgets itself — a town with no children, no dogs, no mail. When she says no, he smiles and tells her that she will. Before leaving, he pays with a silver dollar dated 1892. She never sees him again, but the next week, a county map shows Harvester Road extending two miles farther than it did before. The roads are shifting, and she is still waiting for the town he described.