The road asked for nothing and I gave it what I had
two hands
a tank that was not full
a roll of bread going cool on the seat
and a head that would not stop walking in circles

The dispatcher tossed out cross streets like bones in a cup
Koreatown
Pico and something
a hospital on a hill that had seen every kind of night

I took a slow turn and felt the tires grip
the sun was higher now but still shy
light caught in the scratches on the windshield and made little rivers
I followed them until they ran out

Pickup on Alvarado came next
behind a laundromat
I found a woman in scrubs that had once been blue and were now the color of work
hair tied back
eyes red but not from crying
the kind of red made by long rooms and soft alarms

You taking fares she said
I said that was the rumor
She got in and held her phone like a tired bird
County hospital she said
then softer
please

We moved
the car hummed like an old song you cannot place
she pressed her thumb into her palm over and over
counting something only she could see

Night shift I asked
She nodded
thirteen hours and most of them heavy
She did not say more
I did not ask for more
Some words deserve a chair before they come in

At a light she saw the bread
her mouth curled into almost a smile
Breakfast she said
I tore it in half and passed it back
Steam had faded but the care stayed
She chewed slow like each bite needed a blessing
Thank you she said finally
No one thanks the driver I said
She said then I will start a new law

We crossed a bridge with low walls
the river below looked like a long scar that had learned to live with itself
She watched it pass and said
we had a kid last night who would not stay
tiny heart that wanted to but did not know how
I kept a hand on his foot the whole time
it was warm
She looked at the back of her hand as if it still carried that heat
I wanted to tell her something holy and simple
I said I am sorry
It was not holy and maybe not enough
but it was honest

She nodded like she understood the limits of language
We turned up the hospital road
a bus exhaled
a tired bird flew low and changed its mind three times before choosing a wire
When I stopped by the entrance she reached for her wallet and stopped
Let me pay in quiet she said
Then she placed the other half of the bread back in the tray
For your next mile
She stepped out and the doors took her in
The smell of antiseptic drifted out and folded into the smell of flour and car and morning

I watched the glass swallow her
I thought about hearts
about the ones that stay and the ones that try
I thought about hands on feet and how sometimes that is the only bridge a person needs

The radio crackled
there was a call a few blocks away
a music store that sold more dust than guitars
I rolled down and saw a man locking the grate
He wore a shirt with a band logo from before both of us were tired
He waved me over with the key still in the lock

Studio City he said
I need to drop a thing and pretend I am still in the game
He had a case on his lap
not a guitar
a harmonica set
He opened it like a small altar and checked the rows with quick eyes
You play I asked
Used to he said and grinned
Now I mostly talk about it and tune for people who still believe

We slid along a stretch where the asphalt rose and fell like a slow song
He tapped his knee
a rhythm that wanted company
I told him I had a guitar once
He laughed
we all had a guitar once
He asked my name
I told him
He rolled it around like a chord
Ethan
that is a name that can walk all night

He said there is a club that smells like wet carpet and history
every Thursday a man with a hat plays the same three notes and it still feels like news
He said if I ever wanted to sit in the back and drink water like it was whiskey he would point me to a table that does not wobble
I said I might take him up on that
He said do not wait until your hands forget why they were born

We passed a billboard of a smiling dentist
teeth like snow that had never been stepped on
He snapped the case shut
I used to think you only get one shot he said
now I think you get many and the trick is noticing the small ones
He looked at the meter and laughed
This one is small but real

At his stop he paid exact and then added a harmonica reed taped to a business card
If you ever need a note he said
call me and I will lend you one
He shut the door and walked with a bounce that belonged to a younger man
I hoped it would not leave him too soon

The day heated up
windows open
radio off
a drift of mariachi from a street I was not on
the smell of oil from a truck that had worked harder than any of us

A new call
Downtown courthouse
I found a man in a suit that fit like it was rented by the hour
He held a folder like a life raft
Where to I asked
Anywhere with a coffee he said
his voice shaking
We went to a small place under a parking structure where coffee was a blunt instrument
He took one sip and breathed like a person who had been underwater

You ever stand in front of a judge he asked
Yes I said
He looked at me different and then the same
What did he ask
What all judges ask I said
Are you finished being stupid
He laughed without joy
Me too he said
then he stared at his folder
Inside it looked like a hundred little storms

We sat with the engine on
He said I lied to my brother and now I am trying to find a truth that will make both of us feel like we did not lose everything
I said sometimes the truth just means you stop running
He said what if running is the only thing we were ever good at
I had no answer that would fix a day like his
He folded the folder and asked me to drop him at a bus stop instead
Said he wanted to practice being poor
He put two fives in the tray and a coin that had a hole drilled through it
For your keychain he said
remind yourself that empty spaces still hold things

After that the streets turned bright and loud
work trucks
kids with summer haircuts even though it was not summer
a woman selling fruit at a corner with a knife that flashed like a clean answer

I parked for a breath under a jacaranda that had refused to stop blooming
Purple fell on the hood and stayed
I thought about all the detours that make up a life
how the shortest distance between two points is a number and not a story
how the good parts hide in the left turns you did not mean to take

The meter blinked its small red language
ready again
always ready
I felt something quiet open in me
not hope exactly
something like a door cracked for air

The dispatcher asked if I wanted a long run to the airport
I said yes before thinking
The freeway would be heavy
the sky would be a big open m
people with suitcases would point their bodies toward elsewhere

On the on ramp a car in the next lane matched my speed
in the passenger seat a kid pressed a paper against the window
a drawing of a circle with lines like sunshine
he held it up like proof
I lifted my hand from the wheel and the kid grinned and the driver laughed and then they were gone

The airport signs rose
blue and bossy
I slipped into the slow river of terminal traffic
horns
waves
goodbyes that tried to look brave

A woman in a red coat flagged me by the last pillar
three bags
a face that did not show me the whole story
Where to I asked
She checked her phone
a hotel by the beach
She climbed in and said
I changed my mind
Take me somewhere quiet first
somewhere I can remember my own voice

I knew a bluff where the wind talks and the city stays small
I drove us there without telling her the name
She did not ask
When we reached it she looked out
the ocean was a flat sheet of tin
pelicans made lines like old handwriting
She took a long breath that let go of another breath
Then she said
okay
hotel now

On the way back she asked me if I liked my job
I told her I liked the meter’s honesty and the way strangers hand you pieces of their weather
She said that sounded like a good church
I said it had no choir but many hymns

At the hotel she tipped too much and said
for the quiet
and walked inside with her coat flashing like a small fire that would not spread

I parked by the curb for a minute more
planes lifted off like thoughts that had finally chosen a direction
My hands rested on the wheel
light slid across the dash
In the cup holder there was nothing now
no orange
no bread
just the small dust of both
I brushed it with my thumb and tasted flour and citrus that were not there

The first arc of the day had closed without telling me it would
the drunk man
the girl who caught a train
the old passenger with a watch that kept time honest
Ana and her small sun
the nurse with a hand on a tiny foot
the musician with a suitcase of notes
the suit with a hole in his coin
the woman in the red coat who needed a wind

Detours every one
and somehow we had all arrived

I put the car in drive
The meter blinked
Zero again
Like a promise and not a threat
The city breathed out and I breathed in and the road stood up to meet us