Hey guys, I’m in the process of combining my two blogs so you might see stuff a little different from before. So here goes:
The sky was pitch black. It was as if the moon hid the stars away behind a curtain, concealing their secrets. Even the moon herself was gone, too shy to reveal her face to all the spectators of the night. If the sky was an empty stage, then New York City were its spectators. The city bustled with unrest and excitement, from whispers to shouts as its people shifted their attention from the stage to themselves.
The faceless moon spectated in silence behind its black curtain. The beams of many cars lit up the face of the city, providing a spectacular view. Angry honks and obnoxious screams mingled together, creating a catastrophic symphony of sound.
But one specific car stood out. Its yellow paint visible, even in the dark, with a yellow hood topped by a triangular sign that said, “Gentlemen’s club”. It advertised a revealing photo of a young woman whose face would be lost in the crowd like every other before her.
The driver himself was in his twenties, thirties at most. Dark brown hair grown out too long to be considered an afro, he could be married. But he wasn’t. Wearing a thick silver ring on his middle finger, he only wished he had a wife and children to go back home too. Instead, he was looking for whatever business that approached him on the streets – his only solace in the lonely night.
He squinted to see through the half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. Rays of lights bounced all over the car’s windshield, making it hard to distinguish the people in his way.
Was that a hand that just waved to him?
He was confident it was. Pulling over, he prepared himself. Sometimes the passengers were quiet and kept to their own business, but other times they were rude and arrogant. But still he enjoyed neither. As usual, business was business.
Glancing at his watch, he counted a few hours before the end of his shift. But only a few hours after would he have to start the cycle all over again.
The door opened, and he wondered if the curtain would ever close on him. Then he’d be able leave through that door he has shut so many times.
Up above, like any other respectful spectator, the moon watched him from behind her drawn curtain. Ushering the stars to stay backstage, she whispered her tales to the capricious wind.
So that’s it. This is made up about my somewhat crazy taxi driver who drove me to the airport at incredible speeds because he needed the washroom. Definitely would ride his cab again. Have a good one.
Sincerely,
The Anon
the anon 