Story of the Day

He was drenched when he finally got a cab. It was just as well that the rain obscured his face. He'd have to call his boss tomorrow and explain his sudden departure.

"Where to?" the cab driver, a tall Sikh, asked.

"Doesn't matter. Just drive," he replied as he wiped his face with a handkerchief.

He looked into his hands and noticed the band of metal that had been there forever, so long the skin underneath was two shades lighter.

After a while, the cab driver asked more belligerently this time, "Hey, where to?"

Where to? The question echoed in his brain. Not home. He didn't want any part of her to invade his senses. Not her smells, her clothes, her picture.

"A liquor store," he replied quietly, "closest one. Just drop me off."