I landed in Syracuse, it was late. I didn’t have the heart to share a cab with the two students from Oswego, blaming it on me having barely enough fuel in the tank to converse.
I hailed a cab, a big hammy Indian picked up my bags like and swung them easily into the trunk.
I decided to sit in the back. I handed him the directions to the my hotel, he said “speak, I don’t read”.
So I dictated. He confirmed, as the cab rumbled along.
“Lots of renovations going on at the airport,” I said.
Silence. A minute passed
“Are you from round here?”
I was very pleased, drained and off balance. The rest of the ride was quiet. Traveling alone from state to state, hotel to hotel can be isolating. Social energy stores and then festers. It felt perverse having my foundations float away into nothings.
I thanked the Indian graciously when I arrived safely at the hotel.
I walked in and told the receptionists. They laughed and said “welcome to Syracuse”.
It was a classic case of sadness in the big city.
I thanked them for their help and bid them goodnight as I walked away to the elevators.
They said nothing.