We were strangers sharing a cab in the rain. The ride was twelve minutes. I've been counting since.
Two soaked strangers split a taxi. Twelve minutes of conversation that rewrote both their afternoons.
The rain came out of nowhere.
I was standing on 5th holding a newspaper over my head.
She ran to the same cab I was reaching for.
We both grabbed the door handle.
She said I was here first.
I said I'm taller, I saw it first.
She laughed.
The kind of laugh that stops traffic even in a downpour.
She said fine. We split it.
We climbed in soaking wet.
Water pooling on the vinyl seats.
She smelled like rain and something warm underneath.
She said where are you going.
I gave my address.
She said that's three blocks from me.
The driver pulled into traffic.
In twelve minutes I learned her name.
Her job. Her dog's name. Her fear of bridges.
She learned mine.
The cab stopped at my block.
I paid the fare. She said thanks. I got out. The door closed. And I realized I forgot to ask for her number.