smooth

GRAVEL

9.  The doorman at the Holiday Inn at Pine & Van Ness signaled me to come in for some passengers. I pulled my taxicab under the portico and came around to see about loaded the minivan with luggage "for the airport," the doorman told me, making sure to keep his left hand low for me to lean over and palm him two dollars. The baggage was a little hefty and I had to push and shove it a little to get it packed in, finally dropping my own carryall on top of the whole shebang. I stepped back to survey my work before I brought the back door down and this fellow stands directly in front of me and says, "Are you sharing the cab with us?" You know, after all these years driving a taxicab, I've never heard that insult before. Maybe it was the old gray Dartmouth sweatshirt I was wearing. I stood there looking at the fellow, (who turned out to be an Englishman). As we stood there evaluating each other, a young girl circled the cab. Finally, not knowing what else to say, I simply said, "Well, yes. I'm the driver!" I still hadn't had the wherewithal to evaluate where, exactly, on my website, I'd put that attack. I finally figured it out this morning, though, waking from my dream of Orton. "—Good advice," I'd say, "I'm the driver!" The man and his wife rode to the airport in the back seat and his ninth grade daughter rode on the seat beside me, ignoring me best she could, with her ninth grade breasts. I have no idea how anyone could ever lose their heart to one of those heartless creatures. It makes no sense at all. Twice.