Taxi Ride
She thought
she was jinxed when her taxi was number 13.
And it was red,
not yellow or checkered.
The driver seemed
peculiar, too, dressed up too nicely.
He tended to
drift off the road when he talked.
She wished
that his driving would hold his attention.
Their eyes
met in the rearview mirror and she knew.
She demanded
to be let out, paid the fare,
ignored the
puzzled expression on his face, and ran.
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