Rider Number Twelve: Cat Puke Migraine. 2.6 miles, 18 minutes, $13.80 (1.5 surge).

“How’s your day so far?” she said brightly, climbing into the back seat.

“Good,” I said. “Really good. Just getting started. How about you?”

“I have the worst migraine ever,” she chirped.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. She had a big smile on her face. Tight, but big.

“Oh, gee,” I said. “Those are the worst. I’m fine to just be quiet. I’ll try to drive real smooth.”

“No, I’d rather talk. If you don’t mind,” she said. “It’s a distraction.”

“Okay,” I said.

She didn’t say anything.

“So…other than the unfortunate migraine, how’s your day going?” I said.

“Great,” she said. “My cat got on my bed at 4 AM and started making this horrible gagging noise. I started dreaming that it was me. I’m like, oh my God, something’s making me gag. It was like gag…GAG…GAGGH. And then I woke up actually gagging a little bit. So gross. And then I woke up, and it was like, HORK! I really didn’t think a cat could throw up that much. Especially not all over me. So…yeah.”

“Migraine,” I said.

“Exactly,” she said. Then she laughed.

“Well, you seem to have a good attitude, anyway,” I said.

“Not really,” she said.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. She had a compact out and was applying lip-something.

“Well if I had a migraine,” I said, “I’d probably be at home with the covers over my head.

“I get that,” she said, smacking her lips. “But then you’d miss the day.”