Two euros extra on every ride to the hotel doorman

—Two euros extra, Andrés. Same as always.

Sonia hands the card reader to the doorman of the Hotel Playa. Andrés Fabra, 58, navy blue uniform with gold braid, takes the device with his left hand, taps it without looking and signs.

—And that makes it —Sonia says, glancing at the notebook on her dashboard— seventy-one rides.

It is the 71st since March. Sonia Duarte, 44, Cádiz cabbie, license 208, notes every one with the date and two strokes. The first stroke is what the meter showed. The second one, two euros.

—A hundred and forty-two euros —Andrés adds—. I'm closing them today.

He takes a brown envelope from his inside pocket. Inside, bills ordered by value. He counts one hundred and forty-two in cash and hands them through the passenger window.

—The meter does not reach the exit of the hospital garage —Andrés says—. And that is where you pick up my wife every Thursday.

Sonia slides the bills into the notebook. She holds them with the blue rubber band she uses for tickets, not with the red one for fines.

—See you Thursday —she says.

—Thursday —Andrés says—. When they reach two thousand, it means she is still alive.