Taxi Driver Short Essay

Taxi Driver Short Essay-63
She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like you might see in a costume shop or a Goodwill store or in a 1940s movie. The sound had been her dragging it across the floor.The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

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Every so often one of those anonymous e-mail passalongs is reunited with its source.

We are delighted to be able to identify the author of "One Last Ride" as Kent Nerburn, in whose book "Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace: Living in the Spirit of the Prayer of St.

I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and made me weep.

And none of those lives touched me more than that of a woman I picked up late on a warm August night.

I didn’t need to read any of them as most had already been read, but still I scrolled and refreshed regardless out of habit.“Date?

” the Indian man said, turning his signal on and turning left.“Mhmm,” I said, not looking up from my phone. There was a lull in the conversation.“What do you do? I clicked the button on the side of my i Phone, looked up, stared out the window, and then made eye contact with him through the rear-view mirror.“I work in advertising,” I said.“Oh!

Let's go now." We drove in silence to the address she had given me. For the remainder of that day, I could hardly talk.

It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?

Francis" (Harper San Francisco Publishers) this essay is found. Thanks to Kent and Harper San Francisco for permission to reprint and to Mary Ann Brussat of Spirituality and Health Magazine for identifying the source.

There was a time in my life twenty years ago when I was driving a cab for a living.


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