His heart ached with a loneliness that had become a constant companion. For twenty long years, Mark had driven the streets of Los Angeles, a silent witness to countless lives. He gripped the worn steering wheel of his old sedan, knuckles white.
Each day was the same. Pick up. Drop off. Listen to fleeting conversations. His own life felt stuck in neutral. Empty. Missing the one thing that truly mattered.
He watched them all in his rearview mirror. Young couples laughing after a night out. Businessmen on urgent calls. Weary commuters heading home. Their lives flashed by. Full of joy, stress, purpose. His own reflection? Just a man, growing older, with a hollow ache inside.
The relentless L.A. sun, promising dreams but often delivering only dust, began its slow descent. Then his phone buzzed. A new ride. A name: David. Koreatown. Just another pickup, Mark thought. Nothing special.
The young man climbed into the back. Probably in his early twenties. His baseball cap was pulled low, hiding his face. He was glued to his phone, the blue light glowing on his features.
“Afternoon,” Mark mumbled, his voice gravelly with fatigue.
David just nodded, barely glancing up. The door clicked shut, sealing them in silence. Mark pulled away, the engine a low hum. The GPS voice, cold and robotic, guided them.
As the GPS droned on, Mark glanced at the app. “David.” The name echoed in his mind. It was a common name, sure. But something,