The sky turned copper before night took over
heat from the day still breathing off the asphalt
the kind that sticks to the back of your neck and reminds you the world’s been working hard too
I rolled the window half down and let the city’s noise climb in like a slow tide

First pickup: a man in a cowboy hat and flip flops
he waved like we were family
said he just needed ten minutes of air conditioning and a ride to nowhere in particular
He told me he sold neon signs that spelled out promises for diners and bars that closed too early
I asked which was his favorite
he said OPEN, because it lies the least
At a red light he took off his hat and stared out the window
said he missed the hum of glass tubes more than any person
I dropped him at a gas station and he gave me a tiny piece of glowing blue tubing
said it stopped working years ago but still remembers

Next came a young nurse still in scrubs
her hands trembled just enough to make the lanyard rattle
She said hospital cafeteria please
she hadn’t eaten since the shift started yesterday
I offered her the last half of my sandwich
she said she’d had worse meals and took it
We sat in line at the drive-through
She told me she lost three patients this week but one old lady called her sweetheart right before the lights went out
I didn’t know what to say
When she got out she left a hospital wristband on the seat
said for luck
I still have it in the glove box

Then a guy with a movie camera that had seen too many stories
film student
eyes red from editing all night
he said every shot looks right until you start hearing the actors breathe
He asked if he could film a few seconds from the back seat
I said as long as he didn’t make me look wise
He laughed and said no one in a taxi looks wise
He pointed the camera at the passing signs and whispered lines about speed and forgiveness
At his stop he showed me a still frame
my reflection in the mirror half-cut by light
He said that’s the real city face
then vanished into an alley that smelled like popcorn and rain

A short lull
I parked under a billboard showing a perfect family smiling at invisible savings
beneath it a man with a guitar case played a song for no one
Every note sounded like a letter sent too late

The next call came from a laundromat
two teenagers hauling plastic bags of clothes
they said their dryer broke again and they were chasing time before school tomorrow
They argued about who shrank the hoodie
I told them fabric doesn’t lie
They laughed
one fell asleep before we hit the corner
The other watched raindrops race down the window and said
sometimes it feels like the sky’s doing laundry too
When they got out she gave me a safety pin bracelet
said it keeps things from unraveling

A florist from downtown flagged me in a panic
she had to deliver an anniversary bouquet before the shop closed
roses wrapped in brown paper like shy secrets
The couple wasn’t home
she asked me to wait while she left them on the doorstep
In the mirror I saw her straighten every stem twice
When she climbed back in she said
you’d be surprised how many people buy flowers to apologize to themselves
She paid extra for silence the rest of the ride

Traffic slowed near the pier
tour buses snoring
horns lazy
I picked up a man with a parrot tattoo on his neck and a bouquet of lollipops
He said he’d just quit sugar that morning and changed his mind by evening
Asked to go to the 24-hour candy store on Main
He told me his dad once drove cabs too
taught him that people talk more when they think you’re not listening
I told him that’s the only real rule of the road
He handed me a lollipop at the end
grape flavor
says it’s the taste of giving up gracefully

Later, a woman with paint on her arms and a half-finished canvas
she loaded it carefully in the back
told me she was heading to a friend’s gallery to hang it before she changed her mind
Said the painting looked better in her head
I told her everything does
She smiled and said maybe that’s why we keep making things
At the gallery she asked if I wanted to see it
I said sure
It was a skyline upside down
water at the top, stars at the bottom
She said it’s what the city looks like when you’re too tired to care which way is up
She gave me a brushstroke across my receipt instead of a signature

Midnight crept in
streets wet again from another half-hearted drizzle
The traffic lights blinked like sleepy eyes
I picked up an old man with a shoebox
He said he’d been riding buses all day but wanted to end in a cab
Inside the box were postcards from places that didn’t exist anymore—malls turned condos, diners now vape shops
He said collecting them made the city feel slower
At his stop he pressed one card into my hand
a picture of a ferris wheel on a beach that never was
He said every fake place needs a witness

I parked near a late-night diner
steam on the windows, voices low
I counted what the day left me
a strip of neon glass
a wristband
a frame from a movie I’ll never see
a safety pin bracelet
one purple lollipop
and a postcard from nowhere

Outside, someone laughed too loudly
Inside, the jukebox played a song older than regret
I watched rain slide down the windshield until it stopped pretending to move

The meter blinked
zero again
always zero
but my pockets felt heavier with small proof that the city still breathes between red lights
I turned the key
and let it take me to the next heartbeat that needed a ride