Christy Marks Taxi -

“Good,” Christy said. “Then you’re not disappearing today.”

“Where to?” Christy asked.

The woman hesitated, then smiled—small and fragile, like a crack in a dam. “Thank you, Christy.” christy marks taxi

“Yes.”

“You keep it,” Christy said, pushing the money back. “First ride’s on me. For people starting over.” “Good,” Christy said

And somewhere in the backseat, on the floor mat where the young woman had been sitting, a single silver earring glinted in the passing streetlights—a small, forgotten thing. Christy would find it the next morning, and she’d put it in the glove compartment with all the others: a tiny museum of people who had passed through her cab, each one a story she would carry, just in case they ever came back looking for what they’d left behind. “Thank you, Christy