My flight was at six in the morning. An American offered to drive me. I said, "There is a service for this." He said, "I know." That was the entire argument. He knew. He was aware that a car could be summoned by telephone in ninety seconds at a fixed price. He had decided against it on my behalf. He arrived at four twenty. He brought coffee. He had already been awake. In my country you do not do this. Not because we are cold. Asking a man for four hours of his sleep is a serious act. You would owe him for years. Both of you would rather protect the friendship than test it. So I spent the whole ride working out what this would cost me. I calculated the gas. I calculated the hours. I was preparing an offer. He talked about his lawn. He talked about his lawn for thirty-one minutes. At the curb I got my bag out. I started to say something. He was already pulling away. Then my phone made a noise. "Text me when you land." I landed. I taxied. I turned my phone on. And before I checked anything else in the world, I texted a man about my landing. He had asked me to. Somebody on the other side of the country had decided that my airplane was going to be a thing he thought about that day. Nobody paid for that. There is no company that sells it. It cannot be summoned in ninety seconds. I am somebody's four twenty now. I have done it three times. I bring the coffee. I talk about my lawn. And I make them text me.