Morning slid into the cab like a friendly dog and I let it sit by my feet
the sky was clean
traffic lazy
meter blinking its calm little red heartbeat

I told myself to keep it light today
no ghosts no heavy confessions
just the funny small stuff the road keeps in its pockets

First fare was a guy in a banana costume holding a paper cup that claimed to be coffee
he waved at me on Melrose like a yellow flag at a slow race
works at a smoothie place he says
boss makes us do theme days
he kept peeling the costume back from his ear to talk and the foam would squeak
every time we stopped people shouted potassium like it was a blessing
he tipped with a gift card and said if life hands you bananas you get a staff discount

Next was a kid with a skateboard and a backpack full of something that clinked
he sits and asks if the meter can race his best downhill time
I tell him the meter respects the law more than his knees
he nods like this is wisdom and hands me a sticker that says support your local gravity
at the light he drums on the back of my seat with the tail of the board
the rhythm is messy but honest
he tells me he is learning to land a trick called a hospital flip
name makes me nervous I say
he grins like yeah that is the point

A small dog ride comes after that
woman with sunglasses bigger than sense
dog’s name is Professor
tiny legs
heavy attitude
she says he prefers classic rock
I put on a station that plays guitars with dust on them
the dog settles like a critic who found a sentence he can live with
when we stop he leaves a paw print on the armrest like a signature
the woman thanks me for respecting the professor’s taste
I say of course tenure is tenure

I pick up a tourist couple from Ohio who are looking for the famous tree from a movie they loved
they show me a photo of a tree that looks like other trees but more famous
we circle a neighborhood where every street has the same name plus a different direction
they keep saying this is so cute like they are trying to convince the map
we finally find a tree that could be the tree’s cousin
they take twenty photos from angles I did not know existed
the man says memory is a generous editor
I say the city appreciates their optimism

A guy with a box gets in outside a barbershop
the box moves
I ask if it is legal
he says depends on the county
inside is a bread starter he is delivering to a friend who wants to learn
he tells me the starter’s name is Dolores
I ask if naming dough helps
he says you try to keep a living thing alive and see if you do not start talking to it
I think about the roll Ana gave me and nod
when he leaves he tells me if the cab ever smells like apples that is Dolores saying hello

Coffee break
I park under a faded mural of a saint holding a basketball
the cup is hot and tastes like a small argument I am losing
a guy walks by with a microwave balanced on his shoulder like he is taking it for a stroll
he nods at me
I nod back
we do not ask questions
some scenes should be left to imagination

A woman waves me down with a bouquet of plastic flowers
she says she is late to a job interview and the real flowers would not survive the bus
she practices answers aloud
my greatest strength she says is I do not panic when the printer jams
big skill I say
she smiles and adds I also bring snacks
I tell her to lead with snacks
when she gets out she leaves one flower on the seat
for luck she says
it smells like dust and fake roses and somehow hope

Then a kid with a science fair volcano
cardboard
painted lava
glue not dry
he holds it like a sleeping cat
I take the slowest streets
we breathe carefully
at a stop the volcano slides
his eyes go wide
I tap the brake like a lullaby and the thing settles
he tells me the eruption is baking soda and vinegar and courage
I tell him that is the recipe for most days

Midday finds me at a thrift store where a man in a velvet blazer needs a ride to a backyard wedding
he says he is the emergency officiant because the original one caught food poisoning from an overconfident ceviche
he practices a speech in the back seat
love is a bus transfer he says
you think you are headed one way and then you realize it is the same ticket either direction if you are holding hands
I tell him to maybe use less bus
he agrees and changes it to a kite which feels more romantic and less municipal

A quick airport run turns into a lesson in luggage
a traveler with a suitcase that squeals like a birthday balloon every time it moves
she apologizes to the entire terminal under her breath
says she bought it because the color was called desert sunrise and now it sounds like a sad saxophone
on the way she asks how many miles I have seen
I look at the dash
I say enough to circle some doubts and not enough to solve them
she nods and gives me gum that tastes like memories of mint

Back near downtown a street magician flags me
top hat
no rabbit
he says take me to the corner where people still watch
on the ride he practices palming a coin
I try not to look and still see it vanish
he laughs and says nothing really disappears it just asks you to look somewhere else
I think that sentence could fix a few hearts
at his corner he steps out and pulls a red scarf from the air
kids cheer
I drive away feeling like I left during the credits

A little rain kisses the windshield and then forgets to continue
the city smells like warm dust and afternoon
I pick up a baker on a break who orders a coffee through my window from a place we stop beside
he tells me a trick for soft crust
steam at the start
he says life is the opposite
you want the heat after you have learned your shape
I tell him I will write that somewhere and pretend I did not steal it

Last fare of this light run is an older couple with matching hoodies
they argue about whether the place is on Third or on Third Place
they are both right and both wrong
they hold hands anyway
we find the spot by accident
it has pie in the window
they invite me in to try one bite
I say I cannot
they say one bite is not a crime
I take one bite
it tastes like a memory that does not judge you
they leave a tip that is mostly coins and a coupon from a book that expired three years ago
they say the coupon still has good intentions

I end the shift by the beach where the wind keeps secrets and gives back only the small ones
sand on the floor mats
songs from cars that do not agree on anything
a surfer running past with a board tucked under his arm like a piano lid
I turn off the engine and listen to the ocean argue softly with the shore
not heavy
just the usual
I think about the banana suit and the professor dog and Dolores the starter and the interview flower that will not wilt and the volcano boy with his careful courage
I let the light miles stack up
no sermon
no big lesson
just the kind of day that lets you breathe without asking for payment

The meter cools
the sky makes its early promise
I rest my forehead on the wheel for a second that feels like two
then I sit back up
start the car
and look for the next small story that has been waiting all along