Dear Sir, You might not remember me. I would be surprised if you did, honestly, because I do not think I am that memorable. To you I was just another face in the crowd. Another body in a sea of other bodies that likely meant nothing to you. But I remember you. I remember you, unfortunately, because the word you yelled stayed with me for the rest of my day. It swam around in my head while I attempted to focus at work. It stuck to me while I took the bus home, like something on the bottom of my shoe. It clung to my skin even after a longer-than-usual shower. That word you yelled that day on the street ring in my ears even as I lay in my bed. "Taxi." Two syllables were all it took for you to completely alter my day, and you did it without a thought. You called me a taxi, so you must think you know a lot about me. But the truth is, I know more about you from that one interaction then you will ever know about me. Perhaps your assumptions about me were b
how do you change the color