The taxi driver doesn't roll out of bed in the morning; he's already awake. He winds through the roads and back alleys in his spotless yellow cab, a bumblebee drifting around the city searching for flowers to pollinate. Those flowers, of course, being the people of Los Angeles that wave at him in the most unfriendly way. The driver in taxi 409 will transport every tourist, most businesspeople, and some actors as far as they ask. He'll always smile when they're in the car, and sometimes, if the tip is nice enough, when they get out of it. For lunch and dinner, he'll stop by wherever is cheap, and go back out. Soon enough the Sun starts low enough to hurt his eyes; he pulls down the visor and keeps going.

          In front of an apartment with a poster board sign advertising Dylan's sixties themed sixth birthday party taped to the glass door; he spots an actress. She's dressed like Marilyn Monroe and has confetti in her wig. Most impressionists he'll drive past, but the Sun's setting and she didn't bring a jacket, so he pulls over. He takes her to a campus a couple of miles away. They don't speak to each other. The taxi driver keeps his eyes on the road and only glances back occasionally. When he does, she has her wig in her lap. Her manicured nails pick out rainbow confetti until there's a decent pile of it in her hand, and she sprinkles it out over the road, twisting in her seat to watch the little pieces of paper dance in the air.

          The woman dressed as Marilyn Monroe gets out of a taxi, both wig and heels in hand, and walks to her dorm. It's cold tonight; goosebumps rise on her skin as the ocean wind swirls around her body. She bundles up some of her skirt in her hand to keep it from flying as the wind begins to pick up. By the time she gets into her building, the wig in her hand is knotted and her dress is wrinkled. She sighs because she doesn't own an iron.

          Her girlfriend sits outside her dorm room and teases her for being late. They had planned to study--- although they never seem to get much of that done when they're together--- but, they're both tired. They lay down on her twin bed facing each other. Her girlfriend gently wipes away the red lipstick and the beauty mark while they talk about nothing. They dream of Academy Awards and the International Space Station, but mostly how the other fits into their life, no matter how improbable. Eventually, the impressionist falls asleep in the arms of her partner.

          The impressionist's girlfriend wants to stay with her, but as the Sun begins to rise, she gets dressed and prepares to leave for class. She fixes the blankets over the woman still in her Marilyn Monroe dress and closes the door softly behind her. Throughout class, her mind will still be in that room. Her professor's words glide over her and dissolve into the soft sounds of disconnected syllables. When class ends, she'll speed towards the door, throwing a 'thank you' behind her shoulder to her professor as they packed away their things.

          When the professor gets home, they drop their jacket on the floor and leave their shoes in the middle of the hallway. Their shoulders and held low they exhale loudly as they lean against the door. There isn’t much to look at in their apartment, but they keep their eyes away from the picture frames on the back wall. Specifically, the one in the middle. It’s old and the colors have begun to fade, making the wide smile of their mother’s face begin to fade into the rest of her skin. Her hands have lost color and stand out against the green onesie that they seem to wear in every baby photo. They wipe at their face and try not to acknowledge that the voice in their mind asking them to stand up sounds like her’s.  

          That’s when the sounds of reality television and the smell of lasagna hit them from the kitchen. They smile at the sound of their fiancé cursing at the contestants and pull themselves from the floor. Together they eat and watch trashy television until the fiancé falls asleep on top of them on the couch. His hair smells like green apple shampoo, and they run their hands through it while staring at all the photos on the back wall until they’re eyes land on the one in the middle. She smiles at the both of them, huddled together on a couch with the blanket she made draped over them.

          In the morning, they cancel their classes and ask their fiancé to go to the courthouse with them. It seems like the right thing to do, and they don’t want to waste a single second anymore. They both dress each other in their best clothes and barely stay apart from each other for a minute before colliding together again. By the time they get to the street outside their building, they are both breathless. It isn’t quite rush hour, so most of the taxis are still available. Taxi 409 pulls up to them and they stumble in the cab.

          The driver turns on the meter and smiles back at them. “Where can I take you?”