He turned toward the cab, toward the street that was already rearranging itself back into its ordinary choreography. “Not forever,” he said. “Just until I stop needing to know.”
They found a narrow stair descending into shadow. Posters flapped in the stairwell, advertising revivals, old film reels, confessions printed in yellowing ink. At the bottom, the stranger paused. “If he left through here,” he said, “he left with someone who knew how to make people look away.” Freeze 23 11 24 Clemence Audiard Taxi Driver XX...
“Go,” the stranger urged.
“When you asked if I drive time,” he said, “I meant: do you make people stop long enough to see?” He turned toward the cab, toward the street
End.
“You’ll keep looking?” Clemence asked. He turned toward the cab
“Do you still believe in freezing time?” Clemence asked, half-mocking, half-hopeful.