Fare Exchange

I see them in the rearview mirror, the barely out-of-teens looking for jobs, independence.

I see them, the young marrieds with babies, in a desperate quest for decent living quarters, sleep, and reassurance that they’re not making a mess of the parenting thing.

I see them, the stressed businessmen and women, the fidgeting middle-aged, the harried and the hurried — all searching, searching.

Now I glance at the mirror, studying the rear seat’s occupant. He’s in a rush. Aren’t they all? An interview, probably. He’s gone through the papers in his briefcase five times, yanked the knot on his tie to choking point, and keeps slicking back invisible hair.