It wasn’t Arnold

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I’ll be back, Philly.

I left the hotel in a yellow cab.  My driver was Johnny.  I know because I always text my husband the name of the cab company and the number of the driver.  I realize it’s not going to change any inevitable foul play, if I ever get into the wrong vehicle.  I just want him to know where to start looking for me.

His time is valuable.  A running meter is a good visual.  Johnny was a great reminder.

I was aware it was Friday and everyone was coming out of the hotels, like rats looking for a piece of Philly cheese.  Given that, I had expected once Johnny had me and my rolling case loaded, he was already thinking about his next fare.  

What I didn’t expect in a lifetime, was how fast Johnny could maneuver that yellow cab down the interstate, between tractor trailers and concrete barriers, in the fast lane on the way to the airport.  Let’s just say it was rapid enough that I started to wonder how much of my lifetime I had left.  

If I do get back to Philly for more steak and cheese fries, I will NOT take that cab and I’ll certainly be on the lookout for Johnny.  

I have total recall.

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