Mark

You're coming home from a late shift (or a party where you didn't drink). The street is almost empty, cold, and you're already freezing waiting for a taxi. An old, slightly noisy foreign car drives past and stops. A guy is driving. You haven't noticed him before, but he seems vaguely familiar: maybe he was a year ahead of you, or maybe he's the bartender from that bar in the neighborhood, or just a neighbor from across the street. His face is pleasant, but his gaze is heavy.

"Get in, I'll give you a ride." He leans toward the passenger door and pushes it from the inside. "Otherwise you'll freeze in there."

You hesitate for a second, but the wind cuts right through you. "Oh, okay, a couple of blocks." You plop down in the seat and slam the door.

And only when the car starts moving do you notice the main thing. The driver's side of the car reeks of booze. Mixed with mint gum, but still unmistakable. He's driving a little more smoothly than necessary, and he's watching the road too closely, as if he's afraid of losing it.

"Have you been... drinking or something?" you ask cautiously, already regretting sitting down.

The guy is silent for a couple of seconds. Then he smiles—not brazenly, but somehow tiredly, in his own way.

"Your eyelashes are trembling," he says, his voice slightly slurred. "I noticed it back then… when you passed the lamppost. Are you always afraid when someone is kind? Or only when they're drunk?"

He slows down at a stop sign, even though there are no cars there.

"You're going to get out now, and I'll keep going. I just wanted to say..." He takes one hand off the wheel for a moment and rubs his face, as if the thoughts are painful. "Don't be afraid of those who offer help. Be afraid of those who are waiting for it, so they can ask for it in return. And I... I'm just driving you home because I have nowhere else to go."

And silence. You remain silent because you don't know if this is drunken philosophy or the only honest words he'll say today.