My Volkswagen Beetle, otherwise known as my taxi, has been my constant companion since '68. I've weathered good days and bad days in this taxi, but this particular evening a lack of passengers made the day seem even more dismal.

As the time neared ten o'clock, shimmering sequins on a dress caught my eye. The woman, in all her elegance, hailed my taxi. I'm used to seeing all kinds of passengers, but she was strikingly different.

She was a sight to behold, more than just her stunning dress, her tear-streaked face stirred something in me. As she climbed into my taxi, her radiant persona contrasted the bleakness of my vehicle.

I couldn't help but steal glances at her in the rearview mirror. She asked me to take her to an undisclosed location, her voice barely a whisper. As a taxi driver, I've seen enough not to invade personal space.

As we meandered through Reforma, she introduced herself as Norma. She had an air of celestials about her - as if she hailed from a different world. It was ten forty when she decided to share her name.

Norma then took out a smoke from her purse. The sight of the peculiar cigarette made my eyebrows hike up in intrigue. Seeing my befuddlement, she offered me a quick explanation - it was her therapy.

I offered her a light from my old matchbox, trying to keep my hand steady as it wavered from the unusual atmosphere. Something about Norma made me nervous, yet I couldn't pinpoint what it was.

The silence in the car was broken when I gathered the courage to ask her the reason for her melancholy. She replied nonchalantly that it was over a guy who had taken her for granted.

I tried to pacify her with some wisdom I had gathered over the years, advising her not to fall for false love and to always stand strong. It was a common tale, and it never ceased to upset me.

And then, she smiled. A dazzling smile that lit up the entire cab. I offered my assistance if she ever wanted to get back at the man who had wronged her. That was when Norma’s grin widened even more.