Let me off here, I’m good.

I say quietly to the driver, he lets off the gas, eases the car out of traffic and pulls up to the curb. Looking over the head rest of the dirty, sweat stained cab, I can see the driver has a photo of two little children hanging from the meter. They’re young, smiling in a sun dappled park from some unknown portion of god knows where. They are wearing matching dresses, the kind that are ubiquitous at the Gap. It looks like there used to be a third person in the photo, an adult also wearing the same simple sun dress. But her face is obscured by dark tape, looks to have been scratched quite heavily where the face should have been. The driver turns to look at me, eyes turning up slowly. Notices I’m looking at his worn photograph and says “that’ll be $13.75.” He’s not exactly curt, but neither is he asking for any kind of rapport. Fumbling in my back pocket I open my wallet and hand him $15 bucks. “No change, thanks.” I spit out the words. The door locks pop, and I slide across the back seats and step out into a foggy night, it has begun to drizzle. Before I can turn to the driver and retch out another word, he pulls off, closing the door with a practiced impatience a cabbie learns after many years on the job. It slams, and the wheels screech, indistinct words tumble out of the cab. I didn’t even look to see his name. The cold chill of the drizzle has begun bleeding it’s way through my jacket. I turn from the street to realize I mistook the road sign in the loose fog, and am many, many blocks from home. “Fuck.” I say, as I’m pulling up my collar. Turning on my heels I begin sauntering up the tree lined street. The cool wind, and the harsh sounds of traffic fading behind me – FIN.