After 20 years behind the wheel, the tourists at 5 p.m. seem almost the same as the locals at 2 in the morning. The only difference is that the tourists feel some kind of obligation to tell me why they're in town and what they plan on doing. Buckled safely in the back seat, they talk for miles on end, despite my lack of eye contact or responsiveness.
No matter where they’re from, the stories are all the same. Being here means they have somewhere not to be. Being here means forgetting about goals and accomplishments for a couple of days. But no matter where they want me to go, it is always my job to get them there.
The transition from tourists to locals is always gradual. By about 1 in the morning, my destinations begin to shift from upscale downtown hotels to shabby studio apartments way east of the highway. But no matter where I’m sent, the only way for me to make a living is to get them where they need to be.
I typically call it quits when the irresponsible give way to the ambitious. Right about sunrise I find myself in bed, fully clothed, asking myself about the corners I sped around, the people I met, and the pick-up trucks I cut off on the highway. But every night, the only thing I can remember is lying in that same position the night before, asking myself the exact same question.
