LIGHT TRAFFIC

It’s way past my bedtime. The taxicab taking me home lunges over the mountain and then down the other side. The black sedan is wrapped in thick fog. The driver and I agree it doesn’t feel like we’re in Montreal anymore. Eastern Europe, maybe.

He tells me his life has gone by way too fast. Turning his head over his shoulder to face me, he points out that to get places, you must focus hard and do one thing at a time.

“Pour réussir ma-demoiselle, faut pas mettre trop de choses dans votre tête là. Sinon ça devient trop mélangé.”

You can say that again, bro.