Twenty years ago, I drove a taxi for a living. Once at midnight, an old lady in her 80s took my taxi. She gave me an address, and then asked, "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 hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice  . I don't have any family left. The doctor says I don't have very long time." I quietly shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked, the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived, the place where she danced as a girl. As the sun was rising, she asked me to go to the address she had given me. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said. "You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers." "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you." I drove into the fine morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I drove aimlessly ,lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run? The old woman chose to ride through the city in order to   _  .
show she was familiar with the city see some places for the last time let the driver earn more money reach the destination on time