My Ride With Raoul

The back of his neck is hard and shows strength. There is a thick vein winding its way down from the hairline, I imagine a train coming down a steep mountain and I follow as it disappears into the tunnel of his Polo collar. Choo Choo.

The thickness of his black hair is freshly trimmed and straightened. I can tell that the slightest hint of moisture will cause soft baby curls to materialize and pop up all over his head. Presto Magico!

He holds himself erect, but not stiff. Confidant, he glances left and right with hardly a move. He silently and unknowingly offers security and control. I accept. I wonder what would happen if I reached up and touched that vein? I evade eye contact in the rear view mirror.

He brakes and turns toward me, I pay the fare. I glance at his name plate and say, "Nice ride, Raoul" and I tip him generously, after all, he has magical hair.