Paid Vacation

I went to the Bronx on Sunday night, taking two guys down a street that meets the ocean. In the taxi I always find a new spot in my town, a universe its own. I may have found the edge of the earth this time. Each house grew smaller than the next. Modest cars were settled between the street and the sidewalk, steps from each house. On the corner three teenagers stood watching the streets. The sound of my engine traveled up past the "dead end" sign and continued easterly. Too early for the birds, the silence engulfed us. 32.50 was the fare, I was paid 35. One man pissed between the cars as another crossed the street. The air was so still, there seemed to be no scent of money, but I took one more fare to the local train station, then I hit the four-lane highway back into the light.