After walking a few blocks, Aren finally reached the edge of his neighborhood where the streets opened up a little and taxis weren't afraid to circle. He raised his hand, and after a few tense minutes, a yellow cab slowed to a halt. The driver gave him a cautious glance, weighing whether to even stop for someone coming from that direction, then unlocked the door. Aren slipped inside quickly, shutting it before the man could change his mind.
Aren handed the driver the café's address, but when the driver rattled off the fare estimate, Aren's chest tightened. The number was like a gut punch. It was more than he wanted to hear, but he'd expected as much. Los Angeles wasn't built for people like him.
