My knuckle stings in pain. The cab gets moving briefly and slams to a halt. A delivery truck screams by, the horn held down. It’s hard not to think of a herd of snorting bovines jostling and pushing towards an abattoir, the solipsist in me demands my eyes close off their world. A successful pull back into traffic and we’re on our way.
My Starbucks cup is smeared with blood, a perfect occupy ad. Probably get at least a dozen likes on Facebook with this, maybe a few retweets. The coffee is warm still and spice of the nog nudges a small grin across my rain greased face. Reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone, 21 minutes until 4 PM. I have 21 minutes to get across town to deposit cheques before the bank closes. This morning my landlord took my call about the rent being a week late. He wants an email transfer, tonight, so I have to bring coloured slips to the bank. I’m not even that broke, just lazy and irresponsible. A tip of the coffee cup back a final time, only foam left. Down goes the window, and with my best poker face, the cup begins its adventure in the free world. Maybe I’d care more if anyone else in this neighborhood did. The driver yabbers away on his bluetooth in whatever language, stopping behind another line of cars. Brake lights and turn signals daub together in raindrops, the wipers clear the glass canvas.
There is a smell in a warm, wet taxi. Faint tobacco and new car cherry scent are the hallmarks of a downtown cab. Picturing massive amounts of coke that were in the pockets of all those people sitting back here makes my sinus tickle. Drunks, horny johns, little old ladies who need help getting groceries, but really need it for some company. It would suck to be old without kids or grandkids. The tragedy of outliving your friends as the world forgets you. The descent into irrelevancy while waiting to die. Watching Seinfeld followed by M.A.S.H.
I sigh and sulk back into the seat. The cab driver continues to babble on while we remain motionless, tension from this traffic raising my blood pressure. Tilting my head to the side, a tired forehead rests on the window. The glass is cold, and makes a sandwich of rainwater, oil, glass, and skin. Residue and steam makes it hard to even see a reflection of my face in the window, eyelids half closed from boredom. In the humid heat of the cab, green irises and bloodshot whites serve up what resemble Mexican colours in half-moons. The whirring sound of a tire spinning on pavement, a driver to the left cuts off my cab and forces us to stop. Like a reed in a flooding creek, head sliding on window grease without care, resigned to moving however the current wills it. We’re stuck at the same light, but only one car back from the light. Thinking about the next dozen or so intersections I need to cross, a frown tries curling across my lips. Someone call housekeeping, my day just shit the bed.
Grey blobs shuffle beyond the steamed up window. The umbrellas look like each person holds their own personal black cloud above them. Looking down at my bloodied finger, sanguine has my hand sticky and ugly. The way blood seeps into every fold of your skin, it looks diseased. I don’t really have anyone to show this to. Times like these I feel what the idea of love is.
I wish I knew if she still bites her fingernails. It’s been months since we talked. She scolded me for driving fast around my neighborhood, later on I figured it was only because she cared. I think she was embarrassed that she chewed her nails. I didn’t care because I bite mine when I’m bored too. Once we timed her to see how fast she could put her hair back into a french braid. Something like four seconds. I remember it was impressive to watch her do it, with all the motion of a sweatshop factory, but completely silent.
The cab pulls forward for a few hopeful moments before stopping. Broken glass litters the road and a BMW roundel lies shattered among the remains of some asshole’s shitty afternoon.
My Starbucks cup is smeared with blood, a perfect occupy ad. Probably get at least a dozen likes on Facebook with this, maybe a few retweets. The coffee is warm still and spice of the nog nudges a small grin across my rain greased face. Reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone, 21 minutes until 4 PM. I have 21 minutes to get across town to deposit cheques before the bank closes. This morning my landlord took my call about the rent being a week late. He wants an email transfer, tonight, so I have to bring coloured slips to the bank. I’m not even that broke, just lazy and irresponsible. A tip of the coffee cup back a final time, only foam left. Down goes the window, and with my best poker face, the cup begins its adventure in the free world. Maybe I’d care more if anyone else in this neighborhood did. The driver yabbers away on his bluetooth in whatever language, stopping behind another line of cars. Brake lights and turn signals daub together in raindrops, the wipers clear the glass canvas.
There is a smell in a warm, wet taxi. Faint tobacco and new car cherry scent are the hallmarks of a downtown cab. Picturing massive amounts of coke that were in the pockets of all those people sitting back here makes my sinus tickle. Drunks, horny johns, little old ladies who need help getting groceries, but really need it for some company. It would suck to be old without kids or grandkids. The tragedy of outliving your friends as the world forgets you. The descent into irrelevancy while waiting to die. Watching Seinfeld followed by M.A.S.H.
I sigh and sulk back into the seat. The cab driver continues to babble on while we remain motionless, tension from this traffic raising my blood pressure. Tilting my head to the side, a tired forehead rests on the window. The glass is cold, and makes a sandwich of rainwater, oil, glass, and skin. Residue and steam makes it hard to even see a reflection of my face in the window, eyelids half closed from boredom. In the humid heat of the cab, green irises and bloodshot whites serve up what resemble Mexican colours in half-moons. The whirring sound of a tire spinning on pavement, a driver to the left cuts off my cab and forces us to stop. Like a reed in a flooding creek, head sliding on window grease without care, resigned to moving however the current wills it. We’re stuck at the same light, but only one car back from the light. Thinking about the next dozen or so intersections I need to cross, a frown tries curling across my lips. Someone call housekeeping, my day just shit the bed.
Grey blobs shuffle beyond the steamed up window. The umbrellas look like each person holds their own personal black cloud above them. Looking down at my bloodied finger, sanguine has my hand sticky and ugly. The way blood seeps into every fold of your skin, it looks diseased. I don’t really have anyone to show this to. Times like these I feel what the idea of love is.
I wish I knew if she still bites her fingernails. It’s been months since we talked. She scolded me for driving fast around my neighborhood, later on I figured it was only because she cared. I think she was embarrassed that she chewed her nails. I didn’t care because I bite mine when I’m bored too. Once we timed her to see how fast she could put her hair back into a french braid. Something like four seconds. I remember it was impressive to watch her do it, with all the motion of a sweatshop factory, but completely silent.
The cab pulls forward for a few hopeful moments before stopping. Broken glass litters the road and a BMW roundel lies shattered among the remains of some asshole’s shitty afternoon.
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