A Taxi Ride

From today

I get into a taxi and say “Hello.”

The driver, a woman, says “Hi,” makes a short pause, and continues:

— I’m sorry, can I just say something? I can’t hold it in.

— Did I slam the door too hard?

— No, no. You just look exactly like my grandfather. He had the same kind of jacket, the same kind of pants and shoes… all of which he got in Czechoslovakia. I mean, I get that it’s a style, it’s just funny how things repeat themselves.

I laugh:

— I wouldn’t mind if it was just fashion that went in cycles. The Iron Curtain seems to be coming back too.

— Right. They’re going to claw off the Eastern part of Ukraine and then close everything up.

— That’s a definite possibility.

— Or the aliens will land and none of this will be relevant.

— The funny thing is, that’s also a possibility.

This starts a conversation about the nature of reality—my favorite kind of taxi driver small talk. (I wrote about another exchange in this genre three years ago.)

She says:

— Listen, I’m ready for anything now. After Covid, aft…