Chapter Three: The Passenger
Derek Hall’s cab smelled faintly of mint and old upholstery. The smell comforted him—it was one of the few constants in his life.
“Where to?” he asked his next passenger, a teenage boy clutching a guitar case.
“Corner of 7th and Main,” the boy said, barely looking up.
Derek glanced at the boy in the rearview mirror. He looked nervous, like he was on his way to something important.
“You play?” Derek asked, nodding toward the guitar case.
“Yeah,” the boy said, hesitating. “I have an audition.”
“For a band?”
“For music school.”
Derek nodded. “Good for you. What kind of music do you play?”
“Mostly classical,” the boy said, then added quickly, “but I like jazz, too.”
Derek smiled. “My wife used to love jazz. She always said it had soul.”
The boy didn’t reply, but Derek thought he saw a flicker of a smile.
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