Rider Number Nineteen: The Minnesota Transplant. 3.8 miles, 18 minutes, $6.80.

“I’m kind of nervous,” she said. “It’s my first day on my new job.”

“Is that where we’re going?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s a new bar. They have about 3,000 kinds of beer on tap. I’m going to be a bartender. And I’m running a little late.”

I glanced at my app. “Are you supposed to be there at 5?”

“A little before would be good,” she said. “That’s when I start.”

“Well then, it looks like we’ll have you there with about five minutes to spare,” I said.

“Oh, that’s great,” she said. Her voice sounded more relaxed. “I’ve only been here for two weeks. I don’t really know my way around very well.”

“Where did you move from?” I said.

“Minneapolis,” she said.

“That’s a nice town,” I said. “What made you decide to move to Seattle?”

“I just finished school,” she said. “I’m not in a relationship. I don’t own a house or anything like that. And I’ve lived in Minnesota all my life. I just figured it was a good time for me to start a new life. So I guess…today’s kind of day one.”

“Wow,” I said, “That sounds—oh no.”

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“Argh. They’ve got the whole street totally blocked off,” I said. “There’s so much construction going on the app can’t keep up with it. I’m going to have to go around.”

“Are we going to make it?” she said.

I didn’t have a choice. I made a turn. It was going to be a bad detour. I waited for the app to redirect. It said we’d get there at 5:03.

“Yes,” I said. “We’re going to make it. You don’t want to be late for your new life.”