character sketch for a short story

The cab driver grew up in a small village in Siberia, Russia. He left Moscow in 1992, landed in Miami, and made a declaration in the translucent Floridian light and gentle warmth, that he would never leave. He was a long-haul truck driver for ten years. He had been to every state in the Union. The vast stark sky of Montana in winter was beautiful to him. Arizona in summer with its alien saguaro and deeply etched canyons awed him. Still, he returned to Florida. The mild winters, the flat horizon of blue and green. The salty kiss of the ocean. He sends money to his sisters and mother in Siberia, but he will never return in the flesh.

Andrew. He'd been Andryeĭ, Andrei, André, but now he is Andrew. There is an enclave of Russians in Miami. Tall buildings along the water where wealthy Russians send their families to live without fear of kidnapping. America is the only safe place he thinks. He follows the news by reading the locally produced Russian newspaper. He is not interested in football, the Superbowl meaningful only because more people arriving at the airport, more fares for him. He has tried and failed to understand the rules of football. He gives up, a mental shrug

His fares are fascinating to him. Some ignore him completely, never looking up from their phones or small black devices even when giving their destinations. Sometimes two or more people share the town car, their conversations peppered with strange words or hidden subtexts. Lovers on honeymoon, kissing and sighing into each others' faces or sitting in stony silence. Some passengers just stare out the window with wan bemused looks on their faces, as if they are sleep walkers just surfacing into consciousness, unsure of how they got there or what their destination might be. Rarely, a passenger will ask him where he is from and how a Russian emigre from Siberia came to be in Miami. He is alternately happy and nervous when questioned directly. Suddenly self conscious of the time it takes to hear the question in English, translate to Russian in his head, compose his reply and back translate into English. Despite his awkwardness he craves this random recognition and he always drives these fares at slightly slower speeds, stretching out the time with them until the final destination is reached.