But we are all articles left behind. A glove. A phone charger. A half-finished sentence. A promise we forgot to keep.
I tip in cash. Extra. Because the driver let me sit in the front when he saw my eyes were wet. Because he didn't ask if I was okay. Because he simply lowered the meter and said, "Where to?" —the most honest question anyone had asked me all year. taxi bill
The meter clicked. Every tick a small death of possibility. But we are all articles left behind
The machine exhales a ribbon of paper—thin, thermal, unfeeling. $24.50. 11.3 miles. 28 minutes. The taxi bill lands in my palm like a verdict. taxi bill