The rain dripped noisily from the edge of the awning onto the paper bags in the cart, and 41C tugged his collar up from his jacket lapels, to his scruffy, week old stubble.
A dirty white Cab, with a red “Badgers” logo on the top pulled into the lot, and 41C waved to him. He pulls his the two large paper bags from the cart, and nudges it with his foot into the little line of other carts where it clanks into place, raindrops falling as it connects. Mr Stubble, bags to his chest, crosses over the front of the loading area, and carefully places his bags into the already popped trunk of the same-a-like Ford. Eggs at the top, meat at the bottom, glass on the side in the other bag, and 41C in the back, behind the driver.
“Jefferson?”
“Yes, please.”
Badger stops, blinks, fails to place the accent, and responds, “Sure thing!” and we’re off.
The rain, still falling, dribbles half-heartedly down the rear passenger windows, making stop lights and neons look disfigured and grotesque. Steam rises from 41C as the rain in his hair meets the warmth of the car’s heating, fogging the window, further enhancing the already comical view of the outside world.
The cab slowly winds towards UW Medical, and a the driver pulls up. Next fare, an elderly woman with a knee brace, and the front seat is sent all the way back, narrowly missing 41C’s feet, across the rear of the cab. Badger pulls out into the still miserable rain, and rounds the block, over the railway crossing… and the radio statics into what passes for a transmission.
“Sorry, Jefferson. I’ve gotta double back to UW Medical. This isn’t how we usually operate, man. I’ll knock a dollar off your fare.
“Don’t worry, I’m not in a rush”
The cab rounds back again, and once more winds a slow, creeping path under UW Med, this time out the other side, where a Rachael and her son bundle into the back with 41C, all cozy like. The car revs, and pulls slowly from the lot, turing back towards the railway, and moves downtown. Rachael’s son whispers to his mother, “he’s got an iPhone like Eric does, mom!”
41C smiles, and informs the young man, that if he too worked hard, he might work for someone super-cool like Apple some day, too, and get an iPhone of his very own. Rachael’s son’s eyes light up, and for a moment, 41C suspects, “this is what it’s like to be respected by the youth of today. I’m getting old. Fuck.” Mom smiles, and knowing that one reason to stay in school is as good as another for her clearly hyperactive son, mouths a silent “thank-you” at Stubble.
In the front, Badger, still oblivious and sleep deprived, takes a third wrong turn.
We’re not in Kansas any more, folks…
To be continued…