Drive

- I -

On the corner of a busy intersection, Henry found himself slumped over the steering wheel of his black sedan, gazing up at an office building. It was an imposing structure, with polished aluminum and mirrored glass panels stretching toward the clouds. A modern engineering marvel, it towered over everyone at street level, appearing as a physical manifestation of vertical career trajectory and near-endless business aspirations. But, the same could be said about dozens of similar buildings that littered the downtown core and blocked the sky from view.

The drone of rush hour traffic grew steadily louder. Hordes of pedestrians ambled by; a sea downturned heads staring at their devices. How they managed to maneuver through the crowd without colliding with another human being was remarkable, Henry thought, shortly before rolling up his window in an effort to silence the grating sounds of the city.

After several years as a chauffeur, he'd grown accustomed to the noise - and clientele - but, it never became any easier. It didn't matter who he picked up; male or female, young or old, it was all the same. Interchangeable people wearing tailored suits, briefcases in hand, wearing polished leather dress shoes or high heels. Everyone had somewhere to go, and little time to spare. Finding someone who could slow down and have a chat was a rarity, it seemed, and he'd accepted that he was looked upon as a service to be used. The days were long, navigating congested streets and avoiding jaywalkers who darted out in front of moving vehicles without a second thought. Not to mention ongoing roadwork at multiple points throughout the city, bringing traffic to a standstill for longer than he thought possible.

His hand drifted toward the car's stereo controls, incrementally twisting the tuning knob, but mile-high towers of steel and concrete hindered the satellite signal, leaving nothing but harsh static; white noise that sounded eerily similar to the cityscape on the other side of his window. This, coupled with passing vehicles and shuffling bodies on the crowded sidewalk, ensured Henry was able to focus on little else.

Reaching in his shirt pocket to retrieve a small comb, Henry ran it through his neatly parted, coal-black hair, then returned it to the pocket while switching off the radio for good. He'd finally accepted the ambient background chatter of countless passersby on their way home, envious that his day hadn't also come to an end. But, he had one last client to pick up, and evidently punctuality was not her top concern. Withdrawing a pen from the coils of his well-worn notebook, Henry scrawled his estimated time of arrival and indicated the client's tardiness in the margin. It was a proven method of keeping on track, ensuring each pick-up and drop-off was prompt, while also jotting any notes regarding specific client needs.

One late pick-up would ordinarily throw off his entire schedule, affecting not only his other clients but his wallet as well - being penalized for someone else's error was not something he tolerated when it came time to collect his weekly paycheque - but in this case, it wasn't as much of an issue. After six o'clock he was technically on his own time, meaning the stress of adhering to a strict itinerary was off his mind, enabling him to wind down after another day of time constraints. After driving this final client to her home, he'd be headed to his own, and that pleasant thought did something to brighten his mood, if only slightly.

Yet as time ticked on his impatience grew, and he double-checked his driver's log to ensure he'd arrived at the correct location. He'd visited this section of town before - it was a frequent stop - but this wasn't his typical route, and was therefore unfamiliar with today's client list. The most recent message in the log indicated this was exactly where he needed to be, so he closed his eyes and resigned himself to waiting a little longer.

*

A rapid knock on the tinted glass window woke him with a start. A glance toward the clock on the dashboard indicated it was nearly six-thirty, and it appeared his wayward client had finally surfaced.