Taxi Cab Smart

The Wishful Writer  Aug 12 09

Ed drove the beat up cab that delivered me to the airport last Friday. Somewhere in his seventies with skin the color of dark chocolate, Ed had a head of gray curls, wrinkled skin that hung off his arms and black eyes that SAW me. I can't explain it, except to say, the moment I sat down on the ripped seat and inhaled the pine air freshner scent, our eyes met and this man saw straight through me. I've never experienced anything like it. His eyes flickered and turned soft, just as the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile so sweet I nearly cried. It was like he knew I was exhausted, missing home, feeling a little lost and in need of a friend . Full story...

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