We flew through a thunderstorm on our way into
Pittsburgh, landing without incident, but a hailstorm
descended, delaying our bags.

Forty minutes.
One hour.

When we got into the Town Car, both the driver and his
wife’s well-timed pot roast were burning.

When he started driving, the baby started screaming.

She wouldn’t stop screaming.

The label peeking from below the driver’s cap left a red mark
on his scalp. We were the worst people
he had ever known.