"Go on," the driver urged. "She’s waiting for a sign that she’s not alone."
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." "Go on," the driver urged
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—" "Most people think they choose their destination
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. He didn’t ask for an address