Prelude

After I got a job as a cab driver, it was Kai who first suggested I write everything down. Initially, I ignored his advice because my first months as a hack were charmed and quaint. The customers were normally quite lovely and pleased to give me turn-by-turn directions to their house and show me a few shortcuts along the way. It was a very plain job. I drove and the fares rode. Some months later, I began to get comfortable, good at what I did. I no longer needed to ask the people directions and the social niceties that went along with helping someone who is new at their job went away. And that was when I became a cab driver, not just a guy driving a car up and down the hills of San Francisco. That was also when the troubles associated with being a cab driver began. When you get bored at two in the morning on a Monday, there's always the Lusty Lady with its peep-show booth girls to keep you company, or 24-hour diner waitresses to flirt with. There are hills to jump cabs on and other cabbies to race. There are crackheads to dodge and fires from buildings and cops running around in the street with guns drawn. In the end, there is a taxi and the fog in the yellowed glow of streetlights.

This is my blog. Allow me to tell you stories.