.

     I worked as a taxi man for a bit a few years back. Not for long, though. I had been saving up some cash for an apartment downtown, and my uncle owned a small-time chauffeur business. One day, when he was visiting my dad to ask a favor (he asks for favors quite a lot), he suggested I try it out. The money I was making from my part-time job waiting on tables was less than ideal, so I jumped at the offer. I met some strange people--more notably a group of crackheads, an old man named Jack and his dog also named Jack (for your curiosity, dogs are not allowed in the taxi, but human Jack insisted anyway), and some runaway bride who ditched her fiancé on the day of the wedding. The people, surprisingly, never bothered me, though. It was the irony of it all. Here I was, transporting numerous strangers to their desired destination, and I hadn't the slightest clue where I myself was heading. My life at that point was a road to nowhere. So, after a week on the job, I upped and quit. My pitiful tips at the diner would have to suffice. Also surprisingly, that didn't bother me either.