Usually she walked from the diner to her apartment, even thought the two places were pretty far apart. Most of the time she didn't mind the long walk. She would let her eyes wander over the run-down buildings, smile absently at the shop owners that raised a hand in greeting, even say a word or two to the kids that played on the sidewalks. She considered the walk her daily exercise - and besides that, it wasn't as if she had anywhere to urgently be, or anything that was waiting for her attention. Or anyone who cared what she did at all.
But tonight - tonight it was raining. Pouring, really - cats and dogs, etc. The street gutters ran so full of water that they seemed to be little rivers; rain ran off rooftops like miniature waterfalls. Windows were closed and doors were pulled shut. No children played on the cracked sidewalks, no shopkeeps lingered in doorways chatting with people who passed by.
Buffy didn't want to face those empty streets and that drenching rain. She'd been on her feet all day waiting tables - she was tired, she wanted to go to bed. So, rather than force herself to walk miserably through the last grey light of day, she called a cab.
When she climbed into the yellow cab and told the driver her address, he raked his eyes up and down her, suspicion in his eyes.
"That's a long trip. You got the money?" he asked doubtfully.
Wordlessly Buffy opened her purse and handed him the sum he named, which was no small amount. All of her day's tips and half of her wages, actually. Truly told, she couldn't really afford to spend that kind of money on one cab ride; she had bills to pay: rent, food, utilities. But she was so, so tired. . .
As she and the silent driver passed through the city, the streets gradually became more and more crowded. He drove a different route than she normally walked - after all, he could not cut through alleys or climb over fences. These streets were crowded both with people and automobiles. Many people stood at the edge of sidewalks, trying to hail cabs. Traffic on the road gradually slowed to a crawl.
The cab driver pulled over twice to picked up additional passengers. Both were male, middle aged, dressed in dark business suits that cost more than Buffy made in two weeks. One sat in the front seat beside the driver while the other sat in the back seat with Buffy. Both men told the driver their destinations and then pulled out newspapers from their briefcases.
Neither person glanced at Buffy. The driver did not ask either man for his fare in advance.
Buffy was too tired to care. She starred out the window at the people on the sidewalks.
The cab was silent for a while; then, abruptly the man beside Buffy tossed down his paper, uttering a growl of frustration.
"There are no heroes in this world anymore," he stated, authority ringing in his voice. "There are no people out to simply do good for their fellow humans anymore."
"Tell me about it," the cab driver agreed.
"It makes me so frustrated," the businessman continued. "Just look at the articles in this paper. `Husband Murdered for Insurance,' `Woman Killed in Drive-By Shooting,' `Serial Thief Moves Into Rich Neighborhood.' What ever happened to the Golden Rule?"
Buffy had no energy to disagree with the man - she doubted he would have listened to her anyway. She was too tired to care. The pattering of the rain on the roof, the slight squeak of the wipers on the windshield, the gentle instrumental music playing on the radio - all were conspiring to send her to sleep. With heavy eyes she looked out the window.
Up the street on the corner stood a woman with two children, on huddling beside her and one cradled in her arms. All three were soaked, not being under an umbrella. The woman was trying to hail a cab.
"I know exactly what you mean," the driver said to the businessman. "Just the other day I heard this woman had tried to kill her kids so that she could be with her boyfriend, who didn't want the kids. And yesterday, I read about this guy who mugged old ladies so that he could go to college! What's this world commin' to?"
Buffy watched the woman on the corner shift the child she held to her other arm. The child beside her, sexless in its wet clothes, looked up at the woman before snuggling closer.
"No one cares about anyone else anymore," the man beside Buffy said. "All the heroes have died. Now it's everyone for themselves."
Buffy was so tired. Her feet ached, her eyes were heavy, her mind refused to hold a logical thought. She laid her head against the cool window and closed her eyes.
"Pull over," she said suddenly.
"What?" the driver asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.
"Pull over at the corner," Buffy repeated, straitening up with a sigh.
From curiosity or sheer habit of taking orders the driver pulled over. Buffy quickly opened her door and stepped out before she changed her mind. She gestured to the woman with the two children.
The woman dashed for the cab and quickly bundled her children in, much to the
discomfort of the dry businessman. The woman murmured a hasty thanks to Buffy and shut the door.
Buffy turned and started walking away.
"Hey!" the driver called. "You still got money on the meter!"
Buffy looked at him through the driving rain and shook her head. "Take her wherever she wants to go," she called back. And then, already soaked to the skin, she once again turned and started walking.
"Crazy," the cab driver muttered as he pulled back into traffic.
But the silent businessman beside the driver watched the thin, blond haired young woman from behind his newspaper. He watched her place one foot deliberately in front of the other and slowly make her way down the street.
"All the heroes are dead," he said softly, but there was doubt in his voice and in his eyes.
He watched the girl until she was lost to the rain.
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