Am I Drunk Or Is My Uber Driver Driving Really Fast?

I am tipsy and bored. And ready to go home.

I order an Uber.

I leave the bar and text Cayla.

I wait outside for the Uber. I plan on leaving Cayla if she doesn’t come soon enough.

The Uber driver calls me. There is nothing worse on God’s green earth than an Uber driver calling you when you’re drunk on the streets of Deep Ellum.

“Where are you?”

“Where my pin on the app says I am.”

We stay on the phone for five minutes. In silence. I’m too scared to hang up and possibly piss him off.

JNP, JNP, JNP, I’m looking for that license plate.

Cayla is arguing with three black men about football.

The Uber driver finally arrives.

Cayla hugs her new friends goodbye. They aren’t fighting anymore.

We leave Augusta. Sorry you don’t live in our apartment complex.

Cayla and I get into the Uber. Cayla rolls down her window. I roll down my window. It’s hot.

I am drunk and tired and want to take off my makeup.

The Uber driver speeds up.

He gets on 75.

He speeds up again.

Am I drunk or is my Uber driver driving really fast?

I text Cayla.

I close my eyes.

We arrive home.


Was I drunk or was my Uber driver driving really fast?

We may never know.

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