The hardest part is admitting that you can’t drive anywhere.
It is not always a result of the sauce. Maybe your pumps
are too, too high. It could be that your car is a hoopty
and you don’t want to be seen driving it. Maybe it is filthy dirty.
Like someone wrote Wash Me on the driver’s side window.
And you keep putting off-roader bumper stickers on your car,
compounding the disarray. This is how you become acquainted
with the taxi. Taxis become an outlet for excessive
mobile phone abuse. You can be brokering deals while on a date.
He can think you like to be in charge. Like you are a twenty-minute
mogul flipping real estate on the way to the airport. You love
taxis because without them you would never read the newspaper.
You can appear casual if you want, because having a cigarette
is the best way to feel you are not wasting time while waiting
for a taxi. You can feel continental to yourself by riding in taxis
in Los Angeles which is special because everyone accuses you
of trying to cheat the system. Like you ride the bus to hurt
other people’s feelings. Like you want to spoil everything.
Making out in a taxi is the stupidest thing you have done.
You can arrive in a taxi and be disoriented then call your friends
from your mobile phone to say that you’re here. This will be before
the time there is not enough money for the group bill. We are $90 short.
And everyone can be sheepish like they only ordered the escargot.
Who ordered the lavender crème brulé? Then you can be like, Oh, me.
Then, someone will say, Give me the cash and I will put it on my credit card
to get points. The waiters can be cleaning all the tables around you
like you are the last to leave. It can be depressing to go to a new bar,
but you buck up. Then, you can split a taxi and try to stay dry.

as seen in transfr