The back of the cab smelled like old Chinese food and the seats retained a certain dampness as if having just been rained on, but Freddie Benson didn't notice. He stared aimlessly through the smoggy glass, taking no notice of the pale blue sky or sparkling river beyond it. The cab sat stationary on the bridge, and the driver had begun to fill out crossword puzzles.

He glanced towards the front of the cab. "You're sure there's no other way to get to the airport?" Freddie asked sharply, his voice a bit strangled.

The driver looked up slowly, jutting his scraggly chin forward in defense.

"No, sir," he said. "Can't do nothin' about the traffic, sir."

To his great exasperation, Freddie felt a hard lump begin to rise in his throat. He had been trying to control his heartbeat so as not to heave up his lunch in the back of a cab, but he found he couldn't really do it any longer, and his blood began to churn furiously. His pale hands shook and he tried to find something to occupy them with. He began to peel away at the paint on the back of his phone, just for something to do. He slid it open again in his palm, hoping for some sort of miracle, but no such luck. The screen remained as blank as ever. It was as dead as the driver of every vehicle in front of the cab was going to become if traffic didn't start moving again soon.

Freddie leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, wishing for a moment he could fall asleep and forget about what was happening to his life. The car crept forward a few inches, and his eyelids snapped open hopefully. The cars were at least inching along now, instead of sitting at a complete standstill. The hard lump in his throat wouldn't subside – he moved his hand to his throat and attempted to soothe it manually, but no such luck. The cars stopped again. The cab driver glanced into the rearview again and watched the man who looked as though he was nearing a full-on breakdown. He chose his words cautiously.

"Got a big job presentation or somethin' today?" he said, adjusting his cap atop his scruffy hair.

Freddie glanced at the man, his eyes half-crazed. "No," he said quietly.

"You tryin' to get to your wedding?" the driver asked, half-joking.

Freddie laughed darkly. "You could say that." He stared determinedly out the window again.

"Well I sure as heck give up, then," the driver said. "What's eatin' you?"

Freddie slowly turned his head to look into the man's face through the rearview. His eyes were a striking blue, his skin rough and tan as leather, and he looked as though he hadn't even tried to shave since 1996. But there was undeniable sincerity etched in his features, and Freddie couldn't remember feeling so trapped in his entire life. At 25, he was as desperate as he had ever been, and if a scruffy cab driver with a smelly car was going to be the one to throw him a line, he was in no state to argue.

"I have to get to the airport because someone really important is about to get on a plane and leave me forever," he said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible, blinking back a few rebellious tears.

The driver stared at him. "Your lady?"

Freddie nodded, sliding his hands under his knees to try and stop them from shaking.

"You married?" the man asked, his voice kind and transparent.

Freddie stared at his lap. "We were going to be," he said, amazed at how speaking seemed to be quelling the shaking in his nerves. "In a month."

The cab driver looked thoughtful. "You seem like a nice fella'," he said. "Nice haircut. Clean face. Knows how to care about stuff. 'N all that."

Freddie looked up at the stranger in the front seat. "I'm sorry?"

"Yeh know, you can just tell whenever someone's a good person 'r not," he said. "Like even though you're about to lose your nut, I can tell when I look atcha that yer nice. You wouldn' be the type o' guy to smack your lady around or anything."

"No, nothing like that," Freddie sighed, "but what I did was pretty horrible."

"Well what happened?" the driver asked.

Freddie paused, looking at the man's face in the mirror warily.

"Oh, c'mon," he said, waving a hairy arm carelessly, "Who'm I gonna tell? C'mon, you'll feel better."

Freddie blinked a few times, then sighed again. "It's a pretty long story." The longest, actually, he thought wryly. It's my life.

The driver grinned. "Well, pal, you 'n' me might be stuck here on this bridge together for 'least another hour or so. Might as well start at the beginning."

Freddie stared out the window again, deliberating. The water glistened, the sky remained blue, and he still didn't care. He slid his phone open and shut a few times in his hand again, examining the damage he had done to the paint job. What the hell, he thought.

Then he took a deep breath, and started at the very beginning.