A man stepped out to the street and flagged down a passing taxi.
As he got in, the cabbie smiled and said, “Perfect timing! You’re just like Brian.”
“Brian? Who’s Brian?” the passenger asked.
“Brian Sullivan,” the cabbie replied. “He was the guy who did everything right. Just like how I showed up when you needed a cab—that kind of thing happened to Brian all the time.”
The passenger chuckled, “No one’s that lucky. Everyone’s got their share of bad days.”
“Not Brian,” the cabbie insisted. “He was the perfect guy. A top athlete—he could’ve won the Grand Slam in tennis. He could’ve played golf with the pros. He sang like an opera star and danced like he belonged on Broadway. You should’ve heard him play the piano.”
“Sounds like quite the man,” the passenger mused.
The cabbie nodded eagerly. “Oh, he was. And smart, too. He had a memory like a computer. Never forgot a birthday, knew all about gourmet food, and even knew which fork to use! He could fix anything.
Me? I blow a fuse, and the whole block loses power. But Brian? He had the golden touch.”
“Wow, he must’ve been something,” the passenger said, shaking his head.
“There’s more,” the cabbie continued. “He knew every shortcut, could avoid any traffic jam.
Not like me—I’m always stuck. And when it came to women? Brian knew exactly how to make them feel special. He’d never argue, even when they were wrong. His clothes were always spotless, shoes shined like mirrors. He was… flawless. No one could ever compare to Brian Sullivan.”
The passenger, thoroughly impressed, asked, “So, how did you meet this incredible guy?”
The cabbie glanced in the rearview mirror and grinned. “Oh, I never met Brian. He died. But I married his widow.”