It’s dark. It’s early. It’s Monday.
And my new “medicine” didn’t keep me from a sleepless night.
Still, I am cabbie. And this is San Francisco. There are paratransits, dregs and (yyyaaawwwnn) suits all in need of transport across this great city. (And a landlord in wait of rent.)
I shall persevere!
Stumbling in through the lot of ‘ol Citizen’s Cab, I’m headed towards Kojak in the office. However, en route, I spot a grey Nissan Altima over by the hose sporting a suction-cupped smartphone and tell tale “U” sign adhered inside of its windshield. There’s an older black man with a SF Giants baseball hat – with the price tag still dangling on the brim – washing down the tax… er, his car.
Hey! It’s Crooks! (Sometimes taxi driver, sometimes Uber scab.)
“Hey, Crooks! Can’t you read? That sign behind you says it’s a $50 fine for washing personal vehicles!… Read the rest