"You should ride with me," he said. We were sat, drinking coffee, and he was regaling us three with stories from the mid nineties and his early cab driving exploits, "When I didn't give as much (of a fuck, was implied but not stated) whatever."
"They were that pretend nice, you know? They got in and were like: we've got some errands to run." He chuckled. "They were loading guns up and we went to a few different neighborhoods. And I look in the rear view mirror and one of them has a shotgun on his lap and the talking guy is like: He's gonna stay in the car, we'll be right back. I focused on not having an accident, opposed to not having an embolism, and at the end of the night they gave me three hundred dollars and asked for my cellphone number."
"You're good luck."
"Something like that."
"So whose number did you give them?" We all laughed.
The conversation drifted around, we paid, left. But as we're walking, he turned to me, the other two were chatting, and he said, "If you want to ride sometime, lemme know. Also, we're hiring right now. Probably do the training in August, get ready for school. It's A hundred a night usually. Weekends."
"Do you have to know the area?"
"Na, we've got GPS units in all the cabs now. Sometimes they won't enter it right, but that's on them, ya know? They'll eff up the address and you'll just stop in the middle of Detroit -Woodward and Michigan, right?- and they can pay more fare and get the right address, or they can get out and walk."
I smiled. "I'll be in touch. Definitely. Cheers," I said.
