I’m sorry that I ran from your BIG heart…

– by Candy Lace
There I was standing outside my apartment in the freezing cold waiting for my taxi to go to a fancy dress party. I was wearing black and white leggings and a bright red fascinator – I was dressed as an acrobat! No one got it really…
Anyway, I got sick of waiting and just hailed down a cab instead.
The young driver was pretty handsome, it was a pleasant surprise..for about one second. He immediately asked me where I was from, then if I was married. “No, but I have a boyfriend” I lied. “Do you love him?” – “Yes”.
I started to feel really creeped out by this very brief cab ride. Is this how young women are abducted and killed? He wound up the windows, which despite the cold had been open. I started watching the door locks but I wanted to remain calm. I started running over possible escape plans in my head, I clutched the bottle of wine in my hand.
“I am a good person” he said. This was it, no one says things like that unless they are
planning to do something bad to you.
I had no idea where we were, was he even driving in the right direction? I was panicking but wanted to keep him engaged, I didn’t want him to realise how terrified I was it would only make things worse.
“I have a very big heart” he continued. Where was this going, why was he saying this to me? I had known him for about 3 minutes, why was all this so personal.
He kept saying he was lonely, “are you alone here?” Fuck this was not going to end well.
“No, no I have a lot of family here” I lied.
He stopped the cab and gave me my change, I almost burst out of the car and started running down the street to my friend’s front door. I was alive – he wasn’t a psycho murderer, I actually felt a little bad. He must be really lonely.

It was the most intimate taxi ride I’d ever experienced. Had it been a movie I would have fallen for his intensity and we would have been united in our loneliness in the big city.

But there I was running from him to go and drink wine with a bunch of people I didn’t even like.

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