Pet Shop Boys
“Thanks,” I said to the cab driver, and he swerved to park at the curb, a block down from Carew Tower’s drop-off zone. It was Sunday night, and the trendy shops in the lower levels of the Cincinnati high-rise were busy—the revolving door never stopped as laughing couples and groups went in and out. The kids-on-art exhibit had probably brought in a few, but I’d be willing to bet that the stoic pair in the suit and sequined dress getting out of the black car ahead of me were going up into the revo...lving restaurant, as I was.
I fumbled for a twenty in my ridiculously small clutch purse, then handed it over the front seat. “Keep the change,” I said, distracted as I tugged my shawl closer, breathing in a faint lilac scent. “And I’m going to need a receipt, please.”
The cabby shot me a thankful glance at the tip, high maybe, but he’d come all the way out to the Hollows to pick me up. Nervous, I readjusted my shawl again and slid to the door. I could have taken my car, but parking was a hassle downtown on the weekends, and tawny silk and lace lost a lot of sparkle while getting out of a mini-cooper.MoreLess
I fumbled for a twenty in my ridiculously small clutch purse, then handed it over the front seat. “Keep the change,” I said, distracted as I tugged my shawl closer, breathing in a faint lilac scent. “And I’m going to need a receipt, please.”
The cabby shot me a thankful glance at the tip, high maybe, but he’d come all the way out to the Hollows to pick me up. Nervous, I readjusted my shawl again and slid to the door. I could have taken my car, but parking was a hassle downtown on the weekends, and tawny silk and lace lost a lot of sparkle while getting out of a mini-cooper.MoreLess
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