TW/CW: Suicidal ideation

The car jerks to a halt. I lurch forward as the cabbie curses dramatically. “Christ, it’s like they want to die sometimes…”

Through the droplet-beaded window, a helmetless hipster awkwardly hauls his bike onto the sidewalk. He waves apologetically, looking at his phone, unphased by the drenched jeans clung to his legs and the cabbie’s glowering eye-daggers.

“Right here is good.”

“Alright, $12.75.”

I fish in my pocket for the single $20 I got from the bank earlier when draining my…