[ WP ] Every night , as long as you have lived there , a man stands under the streetlight outside your window and leaves in cab 302 . One night the man does not come . Instead there is a letter addressed to you telling you to be in the in that spot , at the exact time , and leave in cab 302 .

The old Cartex clock on my credenza loudly drops the 9 flap, indicating 10:59 - one minute to make my decision. I've already measured it out - 23 feet from my doorstep to the street light under which I'm to meet the cab. 302. Yellow. Driver, I'm assuming, to take me... somewhere. 
 
 The letter itself was nothing special. Handwritten with a fountain pen in a flowing script. Looked a hundred years old, but no matter. All it said was, `` He's gone now. I know you've been watching. Your turn. 11 pm, cab 302.'' 
 
 Nothing special. Just, y'know. All of a sudden a letter shows up, no postmark. 
 
 I think I'm trying to convince myself not to go as I walk out the door. In a yellow pool of sodium vapor light, the white light of headlamps wipe my shadow from the face of the earth. All I can think in that moment is that this could be the last I see of what I thought up until now was a pretty good life. 
 
 The cab stops. 302. The door opens. I pause, my heart pounding. I realize that I have n't taken a breath since the headlamps swung around the corner. I also realize that I can hear someone breathing - it sure as hell is n't me. Hell. Uh-oh. 
 
 I get into the car. There is a driver. He says nothing. Figures. 
 
 The cab moves away from the curb. Away from my normal little life. Job, bike, food, music, friends... trends. 
 
 Maybe this is why the last guy did this every night. The sudden realization that his life sucked. I did n't think my life sucked until I was invited into cab 302. Whatever the hell that means. Hell. I did it again. What is the deal with my gut when I say hell? 
 
 I look out the window of the cab - it is the natural thing to do in a cab. But I ca n't see anything. Windows must be blacked out - not sure why I did n't realize that earlier. Pretty sure my mother taught me better than that. Maybe not, since I'm in the back of a cab, with a driver of unknown... origin, headed to wherever I was invited, and... hell. That's where I'm going. It's suddenly clear. I'm going to hell. 
 
 `` So, when do you kill me?'' I ask the driver. 
 
 A deep, throaty laugh echoes in the cab like it's a cave. The driver stands up and turns to look at me. First thing I notice is that the driver is standing up in the cab. Second thing I notice is that we are n't moving. Third thing is that the driver is n't human. Fourth is that I'm not scared. 
 
 The Driver invites me in the deepest voice I've ever heard to stand up and step forward. I do so, because, well, really, why not? 
 
 He asks if I'm sorry I came. I tell him no, although I'm not sure why. I'm not sorry, I suppose, but I sure as hell am wondering what made me come. Hell. I do n't swear as a rule, but something about this stupid place is bringing out a strange side of me. I'm filled with a bizarre calmness that is terrifying. 
 
 He asks me if I'm happy with my life. I tell him no, although I was until 20 minutes ago; I assume that's how long we've been gone - really I have no idea. 
 
 He asks me if I want to know the secret to a happy life. I tell him no - in a split second I realize that if I know the secret to happiness it will rob me of happiness. 
 
 He asks me if I want to go home - I'm starting to wonder what the point of this is. Maybe this is actually hell - stupid questions from some guy... thing... ad infinitum. 
 
 I tell him yes. Figured I should change things up a bit. 
 
 He nods and walks away. With him goes any traces of light. In the bizarre world of whatever-the-hell-this-is, I'm plunged into darkness. My mind races, my eyes dart, my blood pounds, and I desperately wish I would have said `` no''. Being somewhere unknown with someone unknown is one thing. Being somewhere alone with no one in utter darkness is totally different. 
 
 The Driver's voice echoes through the cab-chamber-cave. I ca n't tell what he's saying, but his bass voice is accompanied by a treble hiss. The hiss gets louder and louder. The voice gets quieter and quieter. 
 
 The darkness starts to lift, like a fog; the hiss does n't go away. It gets louder. It's my fridge. 
 
 What the hell? I'm back in my living room as the Cartex drops its flaps and hits 11 pm. My fridge is hissing. My eyes are heavy. 
 
 As I fall asleep I know I sure as hell will be under that street light tomorrow at 11 pm. What in the world was that? 
 

