Taxi Bill -

It remembers the rain we drove through—the way the city blurred into watercolor lights. It remembers the silence between two strangers who shared a back seat for half an hour, the driver's sitar music bleeding softly from the front, and how you finally said, "I think I’m losing the ability to cry."

I look at the fine print on the back: Not responsible for articles left behind. taxi bill

The bill says thank you at the bottom. Thank you for riding. Thank you for paying. Thank you for moving through my city without touching it. It remembers the rain we drove through—the way