20 years ago, I drove a cab     1    a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pickup
at a building that was dark    2   a single light in a ground floor window. After a long pause, a small
woman in her 80's stood before me.
     "Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took her small suitcase to the cab, and then
returned to   3   the woman. She kept thanking me for my kindness. " It's nothing." I told her. "I just try
to treat my passengers the   4   I would want my mother treated."
     "Riverside Street, please. But could you drive through downtown?"
     "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.
      "Oh, I don't mind," She said." I'm in no  5  . I am on my way to a hospice." I looked in the back
 view mirror. Her eyes were full of  6  . "I don't have any family   7  ." She continued. "The   8   says I
don't have very long." While we were driving through the city, she showed me the building where she
had once worked. Sometimes she asked me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and
would   9   into the darkness, saying   10  . Not until the first ray of the sun   11   up the sky did we get
to the address she had given me.
     " How much do I   12   you?" she asked.
      " Nothing," I said. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She   13   onto me tightly,
saying " You gave an old woman a little moment of joy." Then she walked into the hospice.
     Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the   14   of a life. I don't pick up any more passengers
for the rest of the day. I drove  15  , lost in thought.   16   I had refused to take the run? On a quick 17  ,
I don't think I have done anything more  18   in my life. We are conditioned to think that our lives  19   
on great moments. But great moments often catch us  20  -beautifully hidden in what others may consider
a small one.