Lyft Itemized Receipt -

The price of geography. The city unspools like a confession. Past the overpass where you got your first parking ticket. Past the hospital where your father said nothing for three hours. Each mile marker is a gravestone for a previous version of yourself. Elena, the driver, glances in the rearview. She knows you are not going home. You are going back .

The price of thinking. The silent stretches between streetlights. Your phone buzzes—three times. You do not look. You count the raindrops racing down the window instead. One of them wins. You feel a profound, idiotic kinship with the loser. Elena hums a song in a language you don’t recognize. It sounds like a lullaby for the newly broken. lyft itemized receipt

The price of bad timing. After 1 AM, the world gets strange. A possum contemplates suicide on the double yellow line. A woman in a bathrobe argues with a fire hydrant. The stoplights blink yellow, then red, then yellow again—indecisive, like you. This fee exists because drivers deserve hazard pay for the version of you that texts your ex, deletes it, types it again, then deletes the whole thread. The price of geography