Rory looked over her cluttered desk at the offices of the New York Times and sighed. She needed it to be clean, but it was 1 in the morning, and she hadn't gotten more than 5 hours of sleep a night since she had started her internship. She loved it, but it was an incredible amount of work.

"Leaving so soon?" Mavin grinned at Rory. He was a seasoned veteran of the paper, 42 years of service. White clumps of hair surrounded his ears, and the rest of his head was as shiny as a cue ball. He was the nicest writer Rory knew, always willing to stop his work to help anyone who needed it. He was always at the offices for extended periods of time, and it was a running joke between him and the head of Media that he didn't have a house, just had all of his mail sent here.

Rory smiled. "Yeah, I figured I might get some sleep. You know, rest up."

Mavin waved his hand. "Ah, who needs sleep? Coffee has kept me awake for 23 straight years."

"True, true. Here," she handed him a manila folder, "is my work for today, including the two articles I revised and Ellen's work that she left with me to give to you."

Mavin took the folder, opened it, and called goodnight to her.

On the streets of New York, Rory always felt uneasy. Especially this late. She had to hail a cab, her car was useless in New York. She had refused to take it a few times, based on the appearance of the driver, and even if this was a bit prejudicial, she had heard two many horror stories from Mavin and the other intern, Ellen, to take any risks.

The cab she hailed held a young driver with dark brown hair. He looked nice enough, maybe he wanted to get in her pants, as did many guys her age, but it was only a ten minute ride. She got in and gave her address, and sat in silence for a few minutes.

Suddenly, he spoke in a voice that sounded familiar. "You know Ayn Rand? Damn, she's a political nut."

Rory looked in the front mirror and saw a grin on his face. A grin she would know in a split second.

"Jess! Oh my God!"

"I was wondering how long it would take you."

"What the hell are you doing in New York?"

Jess laughed. "Our company got picked up more, and we moved. I just do this at night."

"Why?"
"Well, we got a contract here."

"No, what I mean is, why driving taxis?"
"You meet a lot of people. Some have interesting stories. Plus, it's an easy way to pay for books."
"How do you know your way around?"

"Well, I did live here for 16 years."

"I suppose. So, have you written anything else?"

"Yes. One."
"What's it called?"

"Diction."

"About…"

"It's my 'thus far' autobiography. The guy who published it told me I was only 23 and couldn't have an autobiography yet…but I do. It's written in third person. Some people don't know it's about me."

Rory smiled. "This is my apartment."

Jess whistled. "Jesus, nice place. Logan's?"
"Um, no, we broke up about a year ago."

"If I can, why?"

"He proposed. I said no."
"I see."

"Well, I've got to go."

Jess stopped the car. "Rory, you should call me sometime."

Rory looked away and said nothing. She paid and got out of the taxi, walking inside. Jess banged his head on the steering wheel and then drove off, failing to notice the card she had slipped in with her money.

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Author's Note: Ahh, how bitter. If only he would've seen the card.