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Show Woodworth/l68 walking noisely up the other side of the street. Still the weekend. It only seems late because she has been asleep. The cab is late, the driver garrulous. She can't answer him. Ask him to stop at exactly six dollars, or at $5-50, so she can tip him? As the meter hits five dollars, they have just passed the VFW drive-in. Less than half way there. "Look," she interrupts him. "I just found out that I only have six dollars. I mean, I didn't think it was going to cost this much." The driver looks at her in the rear view mirror. He is Italian, hairy, big. "Whaddidda think?" he asks. "Westfield is a long way out." "I know. It's just. I don't take cabs that often. I didn't know how expensive they were." "Lady, I got to make a living," he says. How can she get him on the right track? The subject is not his wages. He is still driving, the meter is still going. - "No, no. I know. I mean, I'm sure you don't get paid well enough. And*, listen, if you stop now, I can still give you money for a tip." How to make him stop? She wants to grab the wheel, lunge for the brake, throw herself out the door. "If I let ya out right here, how'd ya get home?" He waves his hand around him as they turn onto Route 1. "I'll just walk the rest of the way. Or hitch. I can hitch hike." The idea hits her like an inspiration, even though she has only hitch hiked on Nantucket before. Rachael's done it around here, and she's still alive. "Your old man gonna chew you out if you're late?" The driver asks. She is caught off guard, can't figure out what he's saying, But >tfen she sees him s\iling at her in the rear view mirror, |