Soferul May 2026

The driver as a silent witness to human drama.

The asphalt has its own rhythm. You learn to read it like a heartbeat. A slight vibration tells you the tire is tired; a change in the wind tells you a storm is coming over the mountains. They call me the driver because that’s the only part of me they see: hands at ten and two, eyes fixed on the horizon. Soferul

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 driver as a silent witness to human drama