Love is..

Santos is a night driver. When I start my shift early Monday mornings, he is just getting off. We have a habit of hanging out in my cab first thing in the morning, me driving him home. He tips well. We talk about cab driving, making money, big dreams and the self-sabotage of those dreams. We're about the same age.

When I arrived at the garage on Monday morning, he was there, looking at his waybill, sorting out his money, as usual.

"Do you need a ride?" I said and he nodded. "Which cab are you?" he said and I said 803.

Out in the lot, a taxi van was parked behind 803, blocking it. I put my stuff inside 803 and turned around to move the van, and Santos was there, opening the door of the van behind me with a shy but confident slight smile. "You're gunna move it?" I said and he nodded. I grinned and couldn't stop grinning for about 30 seconds.

Love is when another taxi driver moves the taxi that is blocking your taxi so that you can get out.