The Nightly Reaping of Skin

Tomorrow I'm giving it all up to become a taxi driver. Nothing turns a man cold quite like the crazy in the back seat whose nose you have to break when he starts to stick his head through the gap in the glass. Those horny couples that can't keep it tucked in until they get home. The stupid kids who get too drunk over the bridge who vomit on their friends and the back seat. That will need to be cleaned. Of course there are the daylight devils too. They relate to you, you're a working man, like themselves. They'll tell you about their wife and kids. She's an alcoholic, and the boy and girl are a prostitute and heroin addict, respectively. They pour it all over you. Their cardinal humors and sins. Taxi's are the new confessional booth. Just a little more expensive. Take the long way around for the tourists, suck out a few more ticks on the meter. Get there quick for the locals, speak angrily on your cell phone in a language nobody's ever heard of. Makes them feel bad for you, the tips will be bigger. He's got a hard life, a couple more dollars ought to fix everything. Gas up.

PS - I am not, nor have I been, dying in a hospital. Happy April Fool's Day.