Imagine a world where traffic had to stop because an ant crossed the road, Barry thought as the line of red lights snaked their way all the way to the bridge. He pulled up the hand-brake to give his foot a break. If he'd have thought of that pun, he'd have snickered to himself and rung Emily straight away. She'd have been cooking dinner, and with the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, would've snorted at his humour. With her other hand, she'd have stirred the crushed tomatoes, ensuring they mixed with the onion.
Barry swiped at a tear before it could fall.
These moments hit him every few minutes. There is no Emily. And that realisation crushes him. His arrival home, thankfully, will be delayed by the red tears of the traffic jam. He'll still stop through the Macca's drive through, not so much because he craves a Big Mac, but because he can't possibly look through the pantry for the ingredients for anything.
The later he gets home, the less time there'll be to bring back the memories.