She couldn't resist a snort as she settled back more comfortably on the cushy seats. "Hell no. Unless you think plasticky life-sized dioramas of what<em>some</em>people think life was like 5000 years ago is interesting. And imagine if you had to look at the same ugly, ill-made renditions of monkey men from a million years ago every single day. For hours. It's enough to make you sick." She pantomimed being sick, then continued.<br/><br/>"And then the tours. I was responsible for tours on the entire second floor. People ask the same fucking questions. All the time. And then the dumb-as-bricks kids from the public schools. Cracking gay jokes about the homo erectus exhibit. I guess that's why I started fucking the director. Boredom, disgust, sickness."<br/><br/>She stopped abruptly, wondering what had possessed her, to even consider confessing all this to a total stranger. Yet simultaneously she was fully aware that she opened up easily; she was emotionally desperate and would confide in anyone who demonstrated even an inkling of interest in her situation. But like the alcoholic who always had an excuse for each drink, she justified her behavior with gratitude. She was grateful for the cabbie's generosity, and so she was...<em>repaying</em>him with her confidence.