This week’s column for the S.F. Examiner is about a slow night in The City…
Towards the end of my shift last Thursday night, I’m making the final rounds of The City, hoping to encounter a few stragglers. Or an early bird heading to work. My motivation to keep driving, though, is just a force of habit – a reflex. After 10 hours of doing the same thing, it’s hard to stop …
On a slow night, you can hear every rattle in your rattletrap. Figuring out what’s causing those creaks and squeaks, well… that’s a problem best left for another time.
Despite the potential cheer, I can’t be bothered to play music. It’s just the night and me… and all the other empty taxicabs, roaming the misty streets with top lights blazing …
In the Tenderloin, ambulances race through the streets like wailing banshees, their sirens reverberating off the buildings until it’s impossible to figure out where they’re coming from or where they’re going …
At the intersection of Page and Franklin, a guy standing on the corner is bellowing, “I got dope if you got a bubble!”
From down the street, another voice shouts, “Shut the hell up!”
“Fuck you!” the first guy responds. “I’m not even talking to you! I just wanna smoke some dope. Who’s got a bubble?”
“Hey asshole, shut your trap!”
“No, you shut up!” Without missing a beat, he resumes his chant: “I got the dope if you got a bubble.”
When the light turns green I speed away …
Read the rest here.
[Photo by Trevor Johnson]
In the same time he is often a dangerous striker.
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Kim explains how drinking therapy helped her lose weight and
gone away her sores. Then perhaps two more times prior to drive towards the store and become