Christy: Marks Taxi

One rainy Tuesday evening, Christy picked up a fare from the Amtrak station. A young woman, maybe twenty-five, dragging a suitcase with a broken wheel and wearing a coat too thin for November. She looked like she’d been crying, but not recently—more like the crying had settled into her bones.

Christy glanced in the rearview mirror. “Sometimes. Why?” christy marks taxi

“Good,” Christy said. “Then you’re not disappearing today.” One rainy Tuesday evening, Christy picked up a

One rainy Tuesday evening, Christy picked up a fare from the Amtrak station. A young woman, maybe twenty-five, dragging a suitcase with a broken wheel and wearing a coat too thin for November. She looked like she’d been crying, but not recently—more like the crying had settled into her bones.

Christy glanced in the rearview mirror. “Sometimes. Why?”

“Good,” Christy said. “Then you’re not disappearing today.”