“Car 14 clear and heading for home,” I say into the radio.
“Car 14, Roger,” comes the reply. “Have a nice night, Dale.”
“Thanks, Jill.” Jill’s the dispatcher. A nice lady. I
think she kinda likes me, but I don’t know why. It’s the
cool of the morning, oh about 4:00 a.m. Best time of the day:
traffic minimal; people mostly indoors, asleep; it’s quiet.
‘Bout an hour or so from now and people’ll start moving again.
The city will wake. I hope to be asleep by then.
I pull the taxi into the parking lot. It’s mine for the
night. No one else’s scheduled for it until after my shift
tomorrow. Then they pick it up from the lot and return it.
Perks for being senior driver.
Tiring day. Some are good, some are bad. This one
was tiring. Too many drunks who wanted to argue about the fare,
too many people who wanted me to settle arguments. That’s not
my job. Funny what people think a cabby should be. Ah, well,
tomorrow would be better . . . . Or, maybe it would be worse.
Different, anyway.
I get out of the car and lock the door, looking around.
Hadn’t been robbed yet, but no sense not having your wits
about you. City can be dangerous for the unwary. I stretch,
breathing in deeply of the scent of flowers and trees in bloom.
Like I said, best part of the day.
It’s a long walk up to the fourth floor. Be nice if
they had an elevator, but they don’t. Put my key in the lock
and open the door. Home. Ain’t much, just a bachelor pad,
but it’s where I live. Home.
I sit down at the small table and figure out my take for
the day. Not as much as it could be, but more than I get on a
bad day. Some people think cabbies got it good. Sit down all
day, just drive around. Think they take in everything on the
meter. Ain’t so. We get a cut of the take, and it ain’t enough.
Sometimes work a whole shift for less’n minimum wage.
After the figures were entered in my log book, I relaxed.
Tips weren’t too bad. I declared some, but not all of them.
Only a fool declares everything. Only a bigger fool declares
nothing. I’m neither. So I declare a percentage. It varies
day to day and the auditor will like the fact that I write it
down every day–if they ever audit me. Haven’t yet. I’m tired.
Just sort the mail, take a shower and go to bed.
Damn. I forgot to check the mail. I ain’t walking down
four flights of stairs just to get the mail. It’ll keep. I
put the undeclared tips in the can that’s buried in the flour.
Quite a bit there now. I’ll count it someday. Mad money.
The shower is hot and feels good. I want to stay in, but
I know the longer I stay in, the less time before traffic starts
up, and I want to be asleep by that time, so I don’t stay in.
Instead I towel dry, brush my teeth and climb into bed. Maybe
I’ll have good dreams.

“Good morning, Kate.” Kate works at the restaurant on the
corner of 4th and Hill. She has the 6 to 2 shift. I try to
be on hand to pick her up when I can, which is fairly often.
It’s nice having a lady like her riding in the cab. Take her
home, sometimes, too. She’s a looker. She’s one of those
women who you just want to be around. Cute, cheerful, willing
to talk to a fella. Have her in your cab and it’s a better
day already.
“Hi, Dale. How’s life treating you?” she asks.
“Not bad,” I reply, “can’t complain.” Well, I could,
of course, but it wouldn’t do no good. ‘Sides, she don’t
want to hear it, less’n it’s a legit complaint. Like the
time I was driving her home that night. I just heard my
brother had died in a car crash. Then she was willing to
hear. We talked some that night. Wasn’t busy, so I just
parked outside her place and we talked. Found out some
things ’bout her and told her some things ’bout me.
Funny that. Mostly I don’t like to tell nothing ’bout
me. That night, though, I was feeling lonely and told her
some things. She invited me in, you know, and I was tempted.
Only an hour to go on my shift and it wasn’t busy. No one
would have cared. And she’s a real looker. Got her a body,
she does, as well as a nice face. Probably could have made
her, too, what with her feeling sorry for me.
But I do that and she gets to thinking the next day and
I lose a regular fare. Ain’t worth it. But I’ll bet she’s
real good in bed. She moves real slinky like. It’s a treat
to just watch her walk, which I do. She probably thinks I’m
a good guy, waiting ’til she gets inside before driving off,
but I’m watching her walk.
She ain’t talkative today. “Thanks,” she says as I
let her off. Maybe I’ll take her home tonight and she’ll
say something. She got her a boyfriend. Lady like her,
guess that’s not hard to figure. He works in the camps,
in one month, out two weeks. When he’s out he drives her
to work, mostly, but she still catches a cab back home.
It’s a busy night and I’m picking up and dropping off
a lot of fares. After yesterday it’s a good feeling. Couple
of them good tippers, too.
“Car 14 down for lunch,” I radio in.
“Car 14, Roger.” I wait. “Dale, if you’re in the
neighbourhood, you mind picking me up the regular.”
“Gotcha.” Jill likes fast food from the hamburger joint.
Burger, fries and a milkshake–vanilla. I tell her she should
eat better, but she don’t listen. Make my own lunch. Don’t
cost as much and tastes better. But I don’t mind picking up
for Jill. Then I take it in and we eat together.
Jill’s a classy Lady. Don’t take no guff from us cabbies,
she don’t.