Stage 2

“Number 25, go get the South Liberty Bar and Grill for Hank,” Dotty told me.

“Got it,” I answered, as I logged it in, and started heading South down Commercial, to the Liberty Street split. When I got to the bar, the doorman told me to ask Casey, the bartender. Casey directed me towards a couple sitting at a table near the dance floor, where a couple who appeared to be in their early 40’s were sitting.

“Hi, Hank?” I said.

“Wah dah yuh say?” He slurred.

“I'm your cab driver," I told him, I’ll be waiting for you right outside."

After I turned and walked out I waited about 10 minutes, until they finally came outside. I was tempted to start the meter, but sometimes it’s better to just eat it, rather than arguing over a couple of bucks. Especially with drunks. After he gave me the address, which was half way to Jefferson, I started south down Liberty. On the way there the woman was passing out and I became concerned that she might get sick, so I took an air sickness bag that was in the glove compartment out, and handed it to the man.

“Use this if she gets sick,” I told him.

He refused the bag, and said, “don’t worry she never gets sick.”

Rather than telling him that it would be a $40.00 cleaning fee if she did, I took the bag back and said, “okay.” We drove about 6 miles before we finally got to his house, in a very rural location. The meter read $16.40, and Hank handed me a $20.00 bill and told me to keep the change. Then he proceeded to wake up his girlfriend, after a minute, and opened the sliding back door of the van and exited.

“Have a good night,” I said, as they exited.

Then after a minute, while I was finishing my paperwork, Hank returned to the van and opened the passenger front door, and said, “If you ever talk to me that fucking way again, I’ll have your job, and don’t think that I can’t.”

“All I said was good night,” I told him.

“Get the fuck out of my driveway, right now,” Hank screamed, as he slammed my door so hard that I thought that the window would break. What could I do? So I calmly drove out of his driveway and called my clearance in with Dotty Since it was a slow Saturday night at the end of the month, I ended up 2nd down at Amtrack sitting in #52’s cab.

“These people that we drive are crazy,” I told #52.

“Not crazy, just incomplete,” #52 said.

“What do you mean incomplete?” I asked him.

“Do you believe in evolution?” Number 52 asked.

“I’m not sure,” I answered.

“The human race is in stage one of its evolutionary cycle, which began when the first proto hominid became sentient,” Trevor explained. “If it survives itself, it will reach stage 2. At that point as big a leap forward will occur, as that which took place with the dawn of human thought. All that occurred prior to that moment is foundational, but is only a base from which the structure will be built.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “You sound like you’ve been reading Terrance McKenna.”

“He is the deceased Shaman, who wrote about proto hominids first gaining sentience through the ingestion of psilocybin mushrooms,” #52 said. It’s a novel idea, containing some truth, because sentient potential was imbedded in proto hominid DNA, as it was in all living things. It obviously took a trigger of some sort to open the floodgates. Maybe someday the human race will become complete, when the next stage occurs.

“Yeah,” I said, “maybe cosmic mushrooms will come to earth from outer space.”

“#52, go get the Cozy Inn, room 116,” Dotty’s voice called over the radio.

“I confirm,” Trevor said, as he logged the call in and started his cab. When he arrived at the motel he had to go to the room to contact his fare. An attractive Black woman, who appeared to be in her late 20’s answered the door, and said that she would be right out. Trevor made eye contact with her, and went back to his cab and didn’t have to wait more than a minute before she got in the cab. She wanted to go on a round trip to Taco Time, on Lancaster, so after he called it in, he started driving.

Her name was Candy, and she was a prostitute who worked as a stripper, when she wasn’t turning tricks. She had a perfect hour glass figure, with large shapely buttocks and medium sized natural breasts. She was wearing skin tight pink sweat pants, that had the word “KITTEN,” written across the seat. Her nipples showed through the powder blue halter top, that also revealed a muscular midsection. Her regular clients paid her as much as $300.00-$500 for ½ hour of sex, depending on what they wanted to do.

A cell phone rang and the woman answered and began talking. “I don’t know why she came? She doesn’t have any clients, and she only had $30.00 with her. That means that I have to pay for her to stay in the room. The only reason why I wanted someone else to share a room with was to split the cost. If I have to pay for her to be there, I would rather be alone. It defeats the reason why I wanted a room mate for the weekend. She should have gone to the club, because she’s not going to make any money here. This is stressing me out too much. I don’t need this.” Then she hung up the phone

The phone would ring every time that she hung it up, and she would answer it and start complaining about her room mate all over again. This went on until we got to Taco Time, as she ordered a half dozen chicken tacos and 2 bean burritos. On the drive back to the motel, she was reticent, and gave Trevor a $3.00 tip, after she paid the fare and exited.