Taxi Here

It wasn't a business card. It was a faded photograph of a younger version of the driver, holding a baby girl in front of that very bakery.

The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes were kind but incredibly tired. "Most people think they choose their destination. But sometimes, the cab chooses for them." It wasn't a business card

Elias looked at the driver, then back at the woman. A strange feeling of recognition washed over him. He remembered this bakery from his childhood; he hadn't been here in twenty years. His eyes were kind but incredibly tired

Just as he was about to give up and start the long walk home, a yellow cab drifted out of the gloom like a ghost. Its "VACANT" sign flickered with a warm, steady light. Elias waved, and the car pulled over with a gentle hiss of tires on wet asphalt. A strange feeling of recognition washed over him

He climbed into the back seat, which smelled faintly of old leather and peppermint. The driver was an older man with silver hair and a cap pulled low over his eyes. He didn’t ask for an address. "Long night?" the driver asked, his voice like gravel. "The longest," Elias sighed. "I'm heading to 42nd and—"