I own a car in this city, which makes me more useful than I am interesting

I have a car, a garage, a clean record and a tolerance for traffic that borders on a medical condition. In this city that is a rarer offer than anything about my personality, and I have made my peace with being valued for it.

Forty four, the Jersey side, five years in. The one arrangement I had lasted two years and consisted almost entirely of driving. Airport runs at four in the morning. The big shop she could not carry on the subway. Her mother, twice a month, out on the island, an hour each way with a woman who did not know who I was and talked the whole time. That last one is the thing I was proudest of and it is not a story that makes sense to anybody outside this.

What I want is to be that again. Standing runs on fixed days, plus whatever comes up, plus a rule that I do not get told why.

I will not take gas money. That has been offered every time and refused every time, and I have learned to say it at the start rather than have an argument in a parking garage.

What I am not: interested in anything physical, interested in being company on the drive, or available for anything with less than a day's notice, because I have a job and a bridge between me and everybody. I am, however, absolutely reliable, which in five years nobody has ever complained about.