Last Fare
Dear Diary:
I was running late to work one morning so I decided to take a taxi, a rare luxury. I settled in, and the driver and I exchanged pleasantries. He said I was his last fare.
I said he must be looking forward to going home and getting some rest.
“You don’t understand,” he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the road. “You are not my last fare for the day. You are my last fare forever.”
He explained that he was retiring that day after 45 years of driving a cab.
As he took me to East Harlem from the Upper West Side, he reminisced about his career and the many famous passengers he had picked up.
When we got to my destination, I told him I was honored to have been his last fare and wished him luck. He smiled, turned off his meter and drove away.
— Diane LaGamma
