I left a Cynic boot print on my cab driver last night. He was bemoaning the obligatory niceness of the season, the strangers that give their good wishes.
I told him to ask the next one why they aren’t nice all year ’round, not just now.
He brooded at the road for several minutes, chewing his lip.
Then said, “Y’know, I think I will”.
Perhaps I made a difference to his life, perhaps not. Don’t really care.