Take me to Dove Lewis.

[April 19th, 2006] "Take me to Dove Lewis." My passenger has a cat in a carrier; her voice is shaking. I start gunning it—why is everyone driving so SLOW!? "What's wrong with him?" "He just...collapsed," she says.

I am racing across the Hawthorne when she suddenly sobs. "Oh god, I think he's gone." Long pause. "What should I do?"

She'll need to have him cremated, so we keep going, more slowly now. We talk about our cats. "They're your family," I say. "They're my only family," she says. I talk about losing my girl Meera. "I can't believe I'm not crying more," she says.

"You will," I reply. "I got the news about Meera while I was changing a flat on the cab. I only cried for a few seconds. It wasn't until I was home that I really cried." I drop her off, and get out to hug her goodbye. She's reaching for her wallet. "No, don't worry about it. I'm so sorry."

I run another two fares, tears streaming, and end up near Dove Lewis again. On a hunch, I walk in. "There was this girl with her cat, he had just died?" "Yes, we're calling her a cab now." "No, I've got it."

I knock on the examining room door. "You want to stop anywhere on the way home? Twelve-pack of beer?" "No, I have a bottle of wine at home." Long pause. "I wonder if the others will smell it on his blanket." "They'll be too busy taking care of you." That's what mine did when Meera died.