As a double shift ends, the city at night oozes the surreal. Water on the pavement raises mirage-like shimmers which blur the boundaries between the sodium yellow of the streetlights and the green haze of the skycraper lit sky.
It fogs the mind.
Am I on a pickup or a drop off? Should I make a right or barrel on straight? Did I just see a ghost? No, just a pedestrian on a suicidal stroll down a street without sidewalks. Was that thump my car topper slipping the grasp of magnetism to plunge to its destruction?
The driver becomes a laconic robot.
Dispatch. Drive. Park. Pickup. Drive. Park. Drop Off. Dispatch. Drive. Park.
One zephyr of thought sustains.
At least I'm not one of those poor pizza bastards who have to do this shit until 2:00am.
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