[ WP ] You hail a random taxi to work every day . For the last eight days , the same taxi driver has stopped to give you a ride .

I glance at my watch. 8:43am. Is that the same time as yesterday? I wonder. I climb into the taxi that just pulled up in front of me and place my wallet in my lap. 
 `` Good morning,'' I say to the driver happily. He blinks at me in the rearview mirror. `` Uh, same place,'' I continue when he does n't respond. `` Four Thirty-six West Gem Street.'' 
 We ride in silence; I think it a little odd. In all the years I've been working at Gem Street Animal Hospital, I've always taken cabs to work. On several occasions I've had repeat drivers, but this particular car seems assigned to me. 
 You're losing your mind, I think to myself, but I look back up at the driver in the mirror. It is undoubtedly the same man who has taken me to work for the past eight days. His appearance is n't one that I'd say is memorable, but it is loud. A white man probably in his mid-50s, he has thick salt-and-pepper hair over dark, bushy eyebrows. His eyes look alarmingly sunken, and the wide-rimmed glasses he wears perched on the tip of his long and crooked nose do them no good. He's quite an ugly man. Maybe he'd be better looking if it were n't for those beady, ghostly eyes of his, I think silently. How does n't he recognize me? I continue my train of thought. Or maybe he does, and he just is n't the conversational type. 
 `` So I see you like sticking to routines, huh?'' I say jovially, deciding to break the ice. Eyes flicker to me for a brief moment, as if he is just now remembering my presence. 
 `` How you mean?'' he drawls in a thick, Southern accent and I realize that I've never heard him speak prior to now. 
 `` Well, you've driven past the 7-Eleven on Suffolk Avenue around 8:30am for the past eight days,'' I chuckle and note how silly that sounds. 
 This time his eyes are wide when they find mine and the intensity blazing in them is almost frightening. 
 `` An' how in'a hell you know that?'' he demands harshly. `` Come'a thank of it, I ai n't had a chance ta hit Suffolk since damn near three days ago. Too much traffic down'ere on Anderson Boulevard. It ai n't all bad though, naw, I made alright.'' He says the last few sentences more to himself than to me. 
 `` Uh, I'm sorry sir,'' I say hesitantly when I think he's done, `` but I remember you. Yesterday you were listening to 97.1 and switched to the Steve Harvey Morning Show because all they kept playing was Brad Paisley.'' 
 I feel his eyes burning holes in my forehead through his mirror and pretend to be occupied in re-reading last night's notes from our training. A new miracle drug for arthritis in dogs, cats and horses has just come out and we must learn how to administer it before the it becomes available to the public. 
 The car suddenly swerves and I jerk my head up. We are on West Gem Street but are at least ten blocks away from the hospital, and we've pulled over. 
 `` What's going on?'' I ask, my voice shrill with rising panic. The driver turns around in his seat, his face contorted and red. He is gripping the passenger headrest in his beefy fist, his knuckles white. I try not to state at the massive, throbbed hunk of flesh two feet from my face. 
 `` Now you listen here, missy,'' he bellows. `` How in'a fuck you know what I had playin' on my radio yes'erday mornin'?'' 
 I hope he does n't notice my trembling; I do n't want him to know I'm scared. `` I already told you before, sir,'' I try to say with confidence, `` that you've taken me to work for the past eight days.'' 
 `` Yeah, an' you tol' me you been gettin' taxis down by where I picked you up from, over on Suffolk. But I ai n't been down there an' unless you picked up a taxi from Anderson Boulevard yes'erday then you ai n't ride in this taxi.'' He pauses for a moment. `` What's your name, lady?'' 
 I shake my head. `` I do n't tell cab drivers my name. Nothing personal,'' I add quickly. 
 `` Well here's what I wan na know, Miss No Name.'' His voice begins to climb again, his knuckles pulse on the seat in front of me. `` How you know what I was listenin' to? You spyin' on me? I bet one of my ex-wives done set you up to this, ai n't they.'' 
 `` No, no,'' I stammer. `` I must've gotten you confused with another cab driver.'' There's no point in angering this man, I think. Obviously he's got some sort of short-term memory loss, or maybe a mental disorder. `` Most people hate Brad Paisley nowadays anyway,'' I joke, trying to lighten the mood. 
 He just glares at me, unblinking for another minute and I do my best to look anywhere except at him. Finally he turns around, throws the car in drive and speeds up West Gem. He pulls into the hospital parking lot not five minutes later. 
 `` Thank you,'' I say as I scramble to collect my purse, wallet and laptop case. I close the car door and begin to walk up the steps to the front door. 
 
 `` Until next time, Riley.'' 
 
 
 
 I *never* tell cab drivers my name. 
 

