Soferul May 2026

I don’t talk much. In this job, silence is the best currency. People think the glass and steel of the car are for protection, but they’re actually for watching. I’ve seen business empires crumble in the backseat during a twenty-minute ride to the airport. I’ve seen lovers say goodbye with their eyes while their lips said something entirely different.

The wheel is the only thing that stays still. Everything else—the flickering yellow streetlamps of the city, the silver blur of the rain, the faces that appear in the rearview mirror and vanish just as quickly—is a ghost. Soferul

Being the master of the vehicle while remaining unnoticed by the passengers. I don’t talk much

A sense of belonging to the movement rather than the destination. the silver blur of the rain