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“I drive. That’s all I do. I don’t sit in while you’re planning the score or while you’re running it down. You tell me where we start, where we’re headed, where we’ll be going afterwards, what time of day. I don’t take part, I don’t know anyone, I don’t carry weapons. I drive.”
that’s what life was, a long series of things that didn’t go down the way you thought they would.
Life sends us messages all the time—then sits around laughing over how we’re not gonna be able to figure them out.
Every time you thought you had a take on it, the world thumbed its nose and shifted back to its own track, becoming again—still—unreadable.
He tossed the fortune cookie in the Dumpster. Even if the damn thing held the gospel truth, who in his right mind would want to know?
He drove. That was what he did. What he’d always do.
