The Cabby

The year was 1998. It was a cold, December night in Pittsburgh, PA. The time was 1:30 A.M. My late friend, Joe Judson, and I were low on cash and looking for some cheap diner food. The bus was dangerously close to shutting down for the night. With no way home we set off on an adventure via the bus.
We arrived at Denny's with $17.oo, reaking of strong drink and looking like something the cat dragged in. My hair had a bleach blond stripe running down the middle. Joe was sporting blue hair and neither one of us were wearing the kind of attire that people at Denny's would find suitable. Especially at this god awful hour in the morning.
It was time to split and we were stranded. We had $5.00 left. What to do? "I have an idea!", I said. "Lets order a taxi and ditch the ride about three blocks from home. The idea sounded genius to Joe. I made the call from the pay phone and the taxi was there in ten minutes. It was game time.
Now the trick to ditching a cab is very simple. You must become friends with the cabby. You have to take on the Michael Corleone approach. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Tell him whatever he wants to hear. We told him that we had a couple of easy girls waiting for us. This interested him. Now if I know cabbies and I like to think that I do. Then I know that they like to talk about perverted topics. This reminded him of a story of his own. Pretending to listen we were both plotting our escape. "Hey buddy, we need to stop and get some smokes at the BP gas station. Do you mind stopping?", I asked. Response, "No, not a problem. I need to use the pay phone anyways." This was our chance.
The BP was a 1/4 of a mile from our apartment. We strolled inside and purchased our cigarettes. There was no turning back. It was now or never. We walked out into the cold and headed the opposite direction of the taxi. He wasn't fooled and immeadiately gave chase. We ran. The cabby knew that he had a better chance of catching us if he got out on foot.
Now I've never been much of an athlete and running is definately not one of my favorite things to do. Joe was gone with the wind and I was left in the dust. The cabby was gaining on me. My lungs were on fire and the cold air was not aiding me in any way. I had to stop to catch my breath. Meanwhile, the cabby is running with a mag light and screaming simultaneusly, "How does it feel to get your fucking head bashed in for $7.00?" How do you answer a crazed lunatic when you can't even breath?
With lung capacity back at 30% and the cabby only ten yards away, it was time to start running.This enraged him and his cries began to take on a demonic sound. There was hatred deeply seeded in this man. Killing me seemed to take presidence over the cash. Fortunately, I was able to escape this mad man and live to tell the story of the mag light waving cabby.

In Memory Of My Friend- Joseph Judson