“Snowfall Shift”

The first flakes fell just as Benny turned the key.

They drifted lazily out of the December sky—soft, round, delicate—twirling as they descended toward the quiet city streets. From our vantage point on the dashboard, the snowfall looked enormous, each flake landing with the heavy dignity of a cotton ball. It was the sort of winter evening that made the world hush itself. Christmas lights blinked in windows like sleepy eyes. Storefronts glowed with reds and greens. The air tasted like cold peppermint.

And the cab—our tiny yellow cab—rumbled to life.

“Ready for another night, Lou?” Benny asked, antenna twitching beneath his cap.

“I was born ready,” I said, wiping a sugar smear off my jacket lapel. “Let’s get merry.”

We rolled out of the alley and into the glowing streets just as the city began to stir with its usual holiday chaos.

The First Fare: The Christmas Breakup

Our first pickup flagged us down near the corner of Frost Lane and Maple. A young woman in a red coat stumbled toward us, tears smearing her mascara. She climbed in without looking up, shivering, hugging a crushed gift bag against her chest.

“He left me,” she sniffed. “On Christmas Eve Eve. Can you believe it?”

Benny gave a sympathetic nod. “Harsh timing.”

I turned slightly in my seat. “Let me guess… he said it wasn’t you, it was him?”

Her eyes widened. “How did you—”

“Classic holiday coward move,” I said. “Look, sweetheart, the right guy won’t ditch you in December. He’ll at least wait until January like a civilized human.”

She laughed despite herself.

By the time we dropped her off in front of a friend’s house, she’d reapplied her lip gloss, straightened her hat, and swore she was ready for a night of cocoa and empowerment.

She left behind a peppermint chocolate crumb. Benny and I stared at it for a long moment.

“Dibs,” I whispered.

“Dream on,” he shot back.

We left it. Couldn’t eat on the job. Not yet anyway.

The Second Fare: The Corporate Christmas Panic

Next we picked up a man in a three-piece suit who practically skidded into the back seat.

“I need to get to the office,” he barked into his phone. “Now. Not later—now!”

Benny pressed the gas pedal. “Rough night?”

“It’s the end-of-year disaster! I’m missing reports, the holiday bonus files disappeared, and someone replaced all the office coffee pods with hot cocoa packets!”

I coughed into my elbow. “Sounds festive.”

He glared at the phone. “Festive? FESTIVE? This is a catastrophe!”

Two minutes before he leapt out of the car, he realized he’d left his briefcase behind.

We didn’t turn around.

We never do.

Besides… it smelled strongly of cookie crumbs and banana peel. I spent a few seconds savoring the aroma before Benny firmly locked the trunk.

“No snacking,” he warned.

“Wasn’t gonna,” I lied.

The Third Fare: The Man Who Saw the Christmas Star

We picked up an older gentleman wearing a thick scarf and a nervous expression. He slid in gently, like someone afraid he might break if he moved too fast.

“I saw something tonight,” he whispered.

“Lots of things out tonight,” Benny said lightly. “Shoppers, Santas, inflatable reindeer—”

“Not that,” the man said. “A light. A green one. It hovered, then moved in circles. Perfect circles.”

My wings—ER, arms—stiffened. Benny glanced at me.

“And what do you think it was?” Benny asked carefully.

“A drone? A star? A Christmas sign?” The man wrung his mittened hands. “It didn’t move like anything I know.”

I cleared my throat. “Probably just holiday lasers. The city does that now. Big show. Very… circular.”

He didn’t look convinced. But when we dropped him at his apartment, he wished us a Merry Christmas with a warm smile.

“Think he knows?” I muttered as we drove off.

Benny shrugged. “People see lights all the time. Doesn’t mean they know who’s flying them.”

I nodded, antenna twitching with tension.

Wait. Not antenna. Hair. Definitely hair.

Totally hair.

The Bachelorette Sleigh Ride

Around 1:00 AM, we were flagged down by six very festive, very sparkly women wearing Santa hats and faux-fur boots.

“Take us to Jingle Junction!” one shouted.

“Take us to Kris Kringle’s Karaoke Palace!” another yelled at the exact same time.

“Take us anywhere with hot chocolate martinis!” a third chimed in.

Benny and I exchanged a look.

This would be… lively.

We drove through the falling snow as they belted out off-key Christmas songs, tossed glitter everywhere, and shed peppermint-scented confetti like moulting reindeer.

One woman patted my shoulder. “You two are the BEST cabbies ever.”

Another hiccupped. “You smell like gingerbread.”

I stiffened. “Uh—thanks?”

When we dropped them off—some upright, some leaning—they paid us with a handful of glitter, a candy cane, and a coupon for a free mug of eggnog.

Lou (that’s me) pocketed the candy cane.

For later.

The Poet in the Snow

Near 3:00 AM, the snow grew heavier. The city quieted into a gentle hush.

A man in a long coat waved us down. He got in without a word, his frost-dusted notebook clutched to his chest.

“Anywhere specific?” Benny asked.

“Just drive,” the poet whispered. “I need to think.”

So we did.

The cab glided through streets lined with twinkling lights, over bridges sprinkled with snow, past trees that sparkled like frozen fireworks.

He scribbled the whole time, murmuring lines like:

“A flake is a wish with wings.”

“Midnight hums in peppermint tones.”

“The city shivers in its woolen dreams.”

Honestly, not bad.

When he left, he paid with a crisp bill and half a gingerbread cookie he’d forgotten was in his pocket.

The smell filled the whole cab.

Benny and I sat very, very still.

“Shift’s almost over,” he said tightly.

“Don’t tease me,” I replied.

The Santa Store Robbery (Sort Of)

Just before dawn, we encountered one last passenger: a man dressed as Santa, sprinting down the street with a velvet bag slung over his shoulder.

“DRIVE!” he gasped, diving into the back seat.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I—I stole something!”

Benny stiffened. “Stole what?”

He opened the bag.

It was full of… stuffed animals.

From the toy drive donation box.

He shrank under our stares. “I panicked! My niece didn’t get anything at the shelter party and I— I just wanted her to have a toy! One toy! I’ll return the rest, I swear!”

Benny sighed. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

We drove him to his niece’s building. She got one teddy bear. The rest went straight back into the donation box before anyone even noticed.

He paid us with a candy cane and his blessing.

“Keep the change,” he said.

Lou (me) pocketed that candy cane too.

For later.

And I meant it this time.

Dawn in the Alley

By the time the snowfall softened into morning mist, the streets were quiet again. Christmas Day was only a sunrise away.

The cab smelled of cocoa, pine, spilled soda, gingerbread crumbs, peppermint, and the faint lingering glitter of bachelorette cheer.

We turned down the alley behind our favorite diner—the one whose dumpster always smelled of sweet pastries and yesterday’s fruitcake.

Benny parked beside a collapsed cardboard box, killed the meter, and stretched his arms.

“Another shift done,” he said.

“Best night of the year,” I agreed, rubbing my hands together briskly. “Plenty of holiday spirit. Plenty of snacks—I mean, memories.”

Snow drifted softly onto the cab roof. The world was quiet, peaceful, glowing.

We climbed out of the driver’s seat and the passenger side door, brushing snow from our jackets.

Then we hopped onto the hood.

Then onto the dumpster’s edge.

Then—

We stretched our wings, letting the cold morning air whistle through them, and buzzed away just as dawn broke over the city.

Below us sat our little yellow matchbox taxi, parked neatly beside the diner’s dumpster, dusted with gentle Christmas snow.

Two cab-driving friends, two night-shift coworkers…

Two ordinary houseflies heading home for Christmas.