I’m walking out of my friend’s building to catch a cab. The driver is at the buzzer. Across the street there’s a cab - a minivan.

MY BRAIN: Oh, shit.

DRIVER: Did you call a cab?

MY MOUTH: Yep.

MY BRAIN: Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

ME (loudly, to my friend): I’ll call you when I get home!

MY SUBTEXT FOR THE DRIVER: She’ll call the cops if I don’t get home!

MY FRIEND (too damn cheerfully): I’ll be sure to check Random Jane tomorrow!

I get into the cab. The driver lights a cigarette.

DRIVER (hitting the meter): So you live in that building?

ME (trying not to laugh): Uh, no. I’m going to [my address].

DRIVER: But your friend lives there.

ME: Yeah.

DRIVER: My friend Jenny lives there, too.

ME (it’s so hard not to laugh - who knew reliving something creepy could be such a damn riot?): Really.

DRIVER: Yeah. She works at the [local grocery store].

ME: That’s where my friend was headed just now.

DRIVER: Huh.

Prolonged silence. Crap - he’s trying to place me! And he must be able to hear the smothered snarf-snarf sounds coming through my nose. Must...keep...shoulders...from...shaking...must...distract...driver...

ME (way too brightly): Aren’t you glad they repainted the Space Needle?

DRIVER: What?

ME: The Space Needle. This summer they painted it this hideous orangey gold, you know, for its anniversary, they painted it the original colors. But they’ve switched it back now.

DRIVER: I can’t say I ever noticed it was any different.

Silence. I can’t think of anything to say. Damn absinthe. Green Muse, my ass.

Fortunately, the driver starts to tell me about what Jenny got him for his birthday last week (books - Rumi, Nietzsche, Rilke, and a fourth that escapes me). He’s on conversational autopilot until we get to my building. I think I’m off the hook until

DRIVER: Haven’t I taken you here before?

ME (hoping he doesn’t remember that it was just last week): Yeah, I think so.

I give him a twenty and ask for $13 back on a $5.40 fare. Like last week, he makes an elaborate show of not being able to make change, digging around in various pockets and make little fake-worried noises. Also like last week, I wait patiently, my eyebrows in the "Do I look like a sucker to you, pal?" position. He finally figures out that I’m willing to sit there all night and miraculously finds a ten in the bundle of ones.

Last week it was two miraculous fives.

Note to S: Next time you call me a cab from your apartment, please dear Lord pick another company. Heart, J