“I haven’t told anyone this yet—not even my business partner,” said Jack.
Two pairs of bluebell eyes stared at me gravely—Jack’s, and his infant son’s. Our Jeep sat in Cape Town traffic at the edge of the City Bowl.
Well, their Jeep, to be precise, since I was just the friendly neighborhood hitchhiker.
Jack’s secret? I’m not going to tell, of course, but it had to do with life choices and changes and quitting one job for another.
Traffic began to flow, and the lush greenery of Constantia Nek blurred outside, then transitioned to cityscape as we entered Cape Town proper. Jack is hardly the first stranger to tell me his life story—nor, I suspect, will he be the last.
When a hitchhiker enters a car, we enter into a tacit agreement with our driver. We are storytellers, listeners and, most of all, amiable company. We may not offer gas…
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