Jilly and I were sick and had spent two days inside the house. She wasn’t the only one who’d had a tantrum that day; we needed to get out of the house or break down in tears.
Breaking my foot was a devastating injury emotionally, taking me away two things I love most: walking and driving. Forced to take taxis, I discovered the silver lining: A wealth of stories my drivers were eager to tell me.
The text, sent from the office near the end of my shift, was shorthand for “Let’s run away for a few hours. This reality sucks donkey balls.” Or something along those lines. She understood.