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"Will I see you again?" she asks, and to be honest, I think I'll regret what I say next.
"Not at five-thirty in the bloody morning."
She twists on one of her feet, laughing, silently, to herself.
I'm about to leave when she asks, "Ed?"
"Sophie?"
It shocks her that I know her name, but she goes on. "Are you some kind of saint or something?"
Inside, I laugh. Me? A saint? I list what I am. Taxi driver. Local deadbeat. Cornerstone of mediocrity. Sexual midget. Pathetic cardplayer.
I say my final words to her.
"No, I'm not a saint, Sophie. I'm just another stupid human."
We smile a last smile, and I walk away. I feel her watching me, but I don't look back.
It feels like the mornings clap their hands.
To make me wake.
In the mornings of my eyes, I see three things each time.
Milla.
Sophie.
45 Edgar Street.
The first two hold me up with the rising of the sun. The third strips me and hands shivers to my skin and to my flesh and bones.
I spend the late of each night watching repeats of Dukes of Hazzard. The big fat guy always sits there eating marshmallows at his desk. What's that bloke's name again? I asked myself when I saw the first episode. Then Daisy came on-screen and said, "What's up, Boss Hogg?"
Boss Hogg.
Of course.
God, Daisy looks fantastic in her tight jeans. Each night when I see her my pulse quickens immeasurably, but she's always gone quicker than she arrives.
The Doorman shoots me a dirty look every time.
"I know," I say.
But then she comes on again and there's no point arguing. Beautiful women are the torment of my existence.
The nights and Dukes pass by.
I drive my cab with a headache that waits behind me. Every time I turn around, it's there.
"Thanks, mate," I say. "That'll be sixteen fifty."
"Sixteen fifty?" whinges the old guy in his suit. His words are like froth in my head, boiling, rising, and falling.
"Just pay up." I don't have the patience for this today. "You can walk next time if it costs too much." I'm sure he puts it on his company's account, anyway.
He gives me the money and I thank him. Wasn't so difficult now, was it? I think. He slams the door hard. My head may as well have been in it.
