A lot is afforded a woman in my station of life.
I rotate through dozens of automobiles, most of them stretch, you understand. Capable of sitting thirty to forty people if I wanted them to. High ceilings and large windows. I like to decorate their sides with advertisements. In the morning, one of my countless drivers picks me up, and I watch the early light bend through the glass and play across one of the many seats I have a choice of sitting in.
As someone of such extreme wealth, I try to spread my good fortune to the community. I have often given strangers a ride. In fact, my drivers know so well my generosity and fortune that they will pick up just about anybody.
Why, this very afternoon, my driver, Harold, picked up so many strangers that nearly half the seats were filled. There was an older couple, who sat behind me. They told me they were on their way to the casino. (I had second thoughts about applying my fortune and good graces to such a cause.)They both walked with canes and pretty well filled up their seats. They seamed to be enjoying one another's company. The man let out a blast of breath in exclamation to the woman. I didn't breathe. But eventually, as I feared, I smelled the acrid scent of his exhale bounce off my book and into my face. It's a good thing I am so rich and therefore can cope with situations like this.
I also picked up a man and his son. The man reminded me of the Dude, if the Dude were to have a child and glasses.
In the seat in front of me was a young woman in a sleeveless sun dress with a small grey jacket covering her shoulders. Bobby pins held her curled hair delicately away from her face.
As my driver pulled up to my lavish residence, all the riders gazed at me. They prepared to get off, sure that once the owner of such magnificent automobiles had arrived at her destination they would be able to go no farther.
In a final show of my endless privilege, I waved them on. Harold, take them all home. I will see you in the morning.
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