The Cut

grace cut - with border

Tuesday 4:35am: I am out hacking the streets of San Francisco early, again. Something woke me up. A mental vortex emanating from my previous cab shift. A thought popped into my head during half sleep which kicked in my adrenaline,

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The Homeless Scam

homeless - border

It’s 5:45 in the a.m. and I’m rolling the Castro of San Francisco, in Citizen’s Cab 2976, my eyes peeled for flags the likes of late night stragglers, and early morning Mexicans headed across town to their dish washing jobs.

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Mayor Fist Bump!

Mayor Fist

Okay… I lied about last week’s “quitting cab driving” assertion. (Sue me.) It’s just that I can’t seem to shake this martyrdom thing. Besides, surely SOMEONE out there needs a jump star… er, ride! WARNING: This week’s cab report is

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Cabbie Guilt

Black - border

I’ve been having some weird sepia-tone dreams this past week. They’ve all involved escaping from one or some other long, drawn-out, violent and bloody urban drama. I don’t know if it’s the sickness I slogged through (which kept me home

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