You were a taxi driver in 1976, New York. You drove aimlessly around the streets that never seemed to sleep, as the saying goes. That wasn't particularly a good thing in your opinion. The city at night was the perfect time to bring out the worst in people. That was what you thought. That someday, these streets should get cleaned by rain. Not just any rain, but rain that'll wipe all these crappy things and people off the streets.

But all those thoughts were besides you right now. You were on a... not exactly a date, but more of a meet-up, if you will. With a woman whom you thought was the most beautiful you had seen. That's what you remember telling her at some point when you suddenly entered the office she volunteered at, at least. You also learnt her name: Betsy. You thought she was different from the mindless crowds of people that strolled around everyday in the city's streets. You were about to find that out.

You asked her if she wanted to go get a coffee and something to eat with you. She agreed. Now, you're sitting there, her in front of you, using her fork to pick at her food and periodically taking bites. You had had a pretty good conversation with her so far. She takes a bite of her food, finishes it, and breaks the silence, looking over at you. "You know what you remind me of?"

"What?" You replied, taken back a bit by her suddenly breaking the silence.

"That song by Kris Kristofferson, where it's said 'Hes a prophet... he's a prophet, he's a pusher, party truth, partly ficition, a walking contradiction'". She says, thoughtfully while smiling at you.

"I'm no pusher, I never have pushed", you say.

"No, not that." She pauses. "Just the part about the contradiction. You are that." She tells you, still smiling slightly and keeping her eyes on you, almost as if her gaze is your cue to speak your mind.