I walked to work today as the weather was pleasant and cool. As I approached the bar at the corner of King East and Tisdale, I saw a cab pulled over with a haggard, tired and weathered-looking woman leaning into the back window.
Oh boy! Let the games begin.
As I got closer, she was intensely talking to the balding middle-aged passenger in the back of the cab, then she opened the door and kissed him. The passenger got out and handed the driver a filthy and ragged twenty dollar bill that was a mottled brown – almost camoflage in colour. He then passed an equally disgusting fifty to the woman who, after tucking the specimen into her bra, had begun to neck with him with a furious passion of the kind that can only be bought. The driver took the money between the tips of his fingers and threw it on the passenger seat. He made change and handed it to the passenger, who was busily romancing his new “friend.”
The cab driver rolled his eyes at me and sighed, brushed the $20 into a tupperware container with his newspaper and grabbed a bottle of Purell. The loving couple – now known as “Baby” (he) and “Honey” (she) – made their way around to the patio of the bar – I guess to consumate their new found relationship.
At the stop light at the corner, the cab driver muttered to himself “The shit I gotta put up with to make a living.” He sighed again and drove off into the misty Hamilton dawn.