Homeless


This summer’s borne out all hot or cold, business-wise. And it’s been wearing on me. Increasingly. It’s late in my Friday day shift now, on a cold one. I’m currently rolling west…


It’s noon, there are helicopters overhead, and traffic jams backing up Mission Street all the way to Division. It seems to be all about the left lanes feeding onto Van Ness, which…


Didn’t drive Monday. I tried, hard. Real hard. But I didn’t sleep at all Sunday night. I kept tossing and turning in bed while envisioning potential road rage incidents and the possibility of plowing into some jaywalker challenging my taxi on the streets of San Francisco.



It’s 4:30 in the am, and Tony is sending me darting out of the office with an order up in Holly Park, a residential hood not far from the Citizen’s Cab lot…



Already, I have left the house five minutes late. And this is NOT trivial, folks. This has SERIOUS implications with respect to the numbers of Audis and BMWs that I will be contending with in the battle for Gough!


It’s 5:45 in the a.m. and I’m rolling the Castro of San Francisco, in Citizen’s Cab 2976, my eyes peeled for flags the likes of late night stragglers, and early morning Mexicans headed across town to their dish washing jobs.