By Phil Rossi
I just made an airport drop when the dispatcher called in a house account pickup. I fired up the bird, and buzzed for the location. Once a day shift opened up at Gemini Taxi, I grabbed it. The nights are too full of drunks, lonely weirdos, and creeps jonesing for drugs and revolution.
When I reached the head shrinker’s office, a thirty-something burnout hopped into the backseat. Brandon had no job and rich parents paying off the sex, drugs, and school of rock.
Nowadays, junior popped street legal pills to steer the signals. The duds and misfires would send the movie out of focus, turning him into a dragon. Then it was over the rainbow and back to the bug house.
Brandon wanted to stop at the Foodway on the trip home. A few blocks later we passed Eddie’s Foxhole, a military consignment shop. Brandon asked to pull over and invited me in. I left the meter running, and locked the cab. [Read more…] about Brandon’s Bayonet