I hate these jobs. The airport’s half an hour away, and traffic’s heavy. No doubt this woman would rather be alone. I wish I had that luxury too, but I’m in the wrong job. I should be eating dinner with my wife, talking about this flatness that keeps me in bed longer. But I’m here, in the dark, with a stranger who needs to be someplace else. The traffic moves and I nudge forward. A red light stops us again.