The Drive To Write

Nyc taxi

Nyc taxi (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


Jonah takes a break from driving. He has carried plenty of fares today and can take a little extra time to himself. He grabs his laptop and taps away. Jonah is going to be a writer. Every chance he gets he types and types, never stopping always pouring the ideas into his machine, when it behaves, and waiting to see what people think. He writes about anything and everything, and dreams big dreams, in the big city he calls home.

Here he has a chance to make his dreams come true. He misses Nairobi sometimes, as is to be expected, but he was restless. His college education could have landed him a good job, but he was never content in any of them. When his little cousin wrote him and offered him work, he had to take the chance, so now he is here, in this city that seldom (all the press aside) sleeps. The city is like a world unto itself, like home but more so, and his job lets him explore it, gathering stories and ideas.

Some of his friends get frustrated with their fares, especially the arrogant, young, white college students. He could to, he supposes, listening to their left-handed compliments about his erudition, their woeful ignorance of his education. The assumptions that African immigrants are either poor and/or unsophisticated could make Jonah angry if he let it. The way he sees it, that is their problem.

He just gets a laugh out of it, and more stories. Fingers flying furiously over the keyboard, he spins a tale from his latest encounter, a well-meaning older woman who overtipped him so he could “send the money home.” To his father the well-respected lawyer.  He smiles, and writes and waves to the other drivers as they pass. They all think he is crazy and he is okay with that too. Because he knows better.

He closes up his machine and turns on the “in service light” and drives out. He drives out to collect his fares. He drives out to collect his stories.





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