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.”
Clemence thought of faces she’d driven away from: furtive shoulders, hands dropping things from laps, the way people avert their eyes when they carry shame. She felt, in her own knuckles, the meter’s little tyranny—how time is charged, measured, spent. She had never considered that time could be bent to reveal secrets. Freeze 23 11 24 Clemence Audiard Taxi Driver XX...
“You’ll keep looking?” Clemence asked. He turned toward the cab, toward the street