The Taxi Man.
I didn't mind the side-eye. My palms were already half way through sweaty and the seat felt too tight too. I watched him count up the gear, plenty attentive, and briefly wondered how much worse it would feel if I had my seat belt on. "You're not so much of the tweeting bird today". Brief look at me and then eyes back on the road.
I dared a glance at him, but it might have been a bit too much. It was surprising, wasn't up to three weeks now and here I was, glued to the passenger's seat, watching him do what he did best.
It was never gonna register, the fact that he was old enough to be my Father.
"Oh, the verbal diarrhea you mean"? I forced a weird sounding laugh. Cringing at the high pitched, vocal saboteur.
I.., plenty of things would have erupted, plenty of things I wanted to say. But, I didn't know if it was the peculiar leather smell, (there was nowhere else that got my olfactory lobes so attuned) or the bumpy roads. Though the roads were customarily bumpy, deluged with loitering and every attempt at hustling.
It was part what was on my mind, coupled with the fact that I didn't know where we were going and well, last night. Last n
"I"_
"I don't think last night was any part diarrheic". He said interrupting with eyes steadily affixed to the windscreen, while I watched the cars in front flash their brake lights.
Stupid traffic.
"Was that what you were about to say"?It was quite striking, he had his left eyebrow raised and a firm grip on the steering wheel.
This was it, the elephant in the room I was eager to address. So much for alluding to it. I could feel his eyes on me while I tried hard to keep a straight face.
He soon made a left turn, making the terrain all the less familiar.
