Apparently, a politically-active firecracker we know named Tyler (works for Luxor Cab) was involved in a high speed chase around Union Square. It was with some rich kids come in from the ‘burbs of Marin

I’m out in the lot and just starting to prep and sanitize ‘ol 137. I go to log-in to the tablet and come to note that it’s stuck on some half glowing black screen, with a single line of gibberish yellow lettering displayed in the lower left corner.

I’m rolling the Fillmore strip up in well-to-do Pac Heights. And I cruise by the usual suspects; cops, affluent retirees – with their Golden Retrievers, and mansion contractors

I live across the street from the West Side projects of San Francisco, in an old three flat Victorian. You can still see remnants of the gas flame chandelier in the living room ceiling, from the turn of the century.

There is a solitude in driving a cab. Your co-workers are the citizens of your town, as well as those just in for a short visit…

You cut me off, HARD, as I was crossing Mission Street on MY green. But you were sure to make quick eye contact through your shiny wraparounds first. And that curl on the corner of your smug face… Was that a smirk?

Did you know that all official Norwegian diplomats in training have to go through a formal lesson about Norwegian black metal?

I’m rolling empty in the Haight to the tune of My Old Daddy’s Got a Brand New Way to Love, which again gets me musing about Bob Valor’s tale