The ride stopped. I looked up; the night was bathed in red. A small office that could have been a home stood isolated on a triangular corner. The driver turned fully toward me. He wore a blue jacket. Under his full beard, his face was young and soft. My eyes searched his features and build and quickly determined he wasn’t Art. “Therapy session?” When I looked at him sideways, he added, “I’m a viewer. A very loyal one, actually. Ignore the negative comments. We’re all rooting for you.” It took a while for me to respond. “Is this the right thing?” “Does it feel right?” “I think she might be my
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