After Travis drops Betsy off at her Grammercy Park brownstone, he pulls back into traffic, half-driving and half thinking about his lingering desire along with his notoriety due to the East Village shoot-out, etc. And then, at the 2:34 mark, Travis is suddenly alarmed. His eyes go hard as he stares into the rearview mirror. Because he can’t see his own reflection, because he’s not there, because he doesn’t exist. He died from his shoot-out wounds, and all that stuff he’s imagining — Iris’s Midwestern parents thanking him for saving their daughter, those news clips about a vigilante cab driver doing the right thing, Betsy gazing at him from the back seat — is a dead man’s dream.