Death and Taxis

"Loneliness has followed me my whole life, everywhere. In bars, in cars, in sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There's no escape. I'm God's lonely man."

"Hey, I know that quote! That's Bobby De Niro, from Taxi Driver. Crap film. Who the heck wouldn't see him coming during an election? You know what the problem is with London, these days?"

"I feel almost sure that you are about to tell me..."

"Taxes. Taxes for this, taxes for that. Look at car tax, road tax, toll roads, toll parking. All sorts of crap beginning with 'T'. Whada you do, buddy?"

"Oh, I am the other certainty. However, that is a different story..."

"Sure, sure. I bet I could tell you a few stories!"

"I have no doubt."

""See, you don't get to driving through these city streets without seeing the more colorful side of life. Best job in the world, being a Taxi Driver. Reckon that Bobby D didn't do no method acting! He wouldn't have been lonely in this cab. I tell you straight," he took a left at the Elephant and Castle, "there have been times when I thought the King of Siam would have given up his empire for what's gone on in my cab!"

A persistent drizzle began to draw out a rhythmic squeak from the black Hackney cab's window wipers. Barry Hammond had forgotten where the chap said he was going. Never mind. The mister was happily enjoying the sights and Barry was happily enjoying the conversation. In fact, he felt as thought a weight that he never knew was there had been lifted from his shoulders.

"You're a foreign chap, if you don't mind me asking - not from round 'ere?"

"No. I'm not from around here, Mr Hammond."

"Well, an international businessman like you must see a few things yourself. You wouldn't believe the last guy I had in here - funny fella, that one."

It was strange, but the memory seemed just out of reach. The inner-city roads kept rolling and the darkness made the orange of the street lamps blaze against the rain-dappled windscreen. Barry loved London at night. Never really sleeping; more like it was breathing out, before the giddily inhaled morning of commerce began again. The drone of the engine echoed against the heartbeat of the city and he found himself driving along the street where he'd picked up the 'funny fella'.

Barry felt the pang of recognition, almost physically. Yes. There was the high curb, the upturned rubbish bin and the row of chained up bicycles. Queer, how he should be taking this mister down here too; almost like déjà vu.

"That one before you? He really was an odd one." Barry's voice cracked. "Had this great big coat on, even though it weren't raining when I picked 'im up. Nearly didn't, mind! You get a feeling for the crazy ones, when you've been in this game as long as me. Well, I nearly died of fright when I looked in my rear view mirror and saw this great big, whopping, curvey sword on a pole!"

Barry took another look in his rear view mirror.

"It's a scythe, Mr Hammond."

"Oh."

"Omega, actually."

(535 words)