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The Final Haulin’ Ass: Rule Number 3

The lady was my kind of damsel, with the only distress showing in her skinny jeans. She wore black hair chopped at the shoulders over a smart cut of leather jacket. Lady also wore on her married finger a glasscutter big as a hummingbird. A mom with tweens, I casually guessed, but by all appearances still built for speed. […]

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Haulin’ Ass: Vision Quest

I wheel for the curb to snatch a flag at the Deadwood, a shivery black dude waving twenties overhead, international sign for “Avoid Me.” I also see too late a barmaid putting him to the curb, hearing her fume when he opens the door, “—or I will kick your ass myself!” “Take me to Friendship,” […]

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Haulin’ Ass: Road Dog

The bullshit I get dragged into always starts with a phone call. In this case, voicemail. “We like your background and want to interview you.” I nearly broke my thumbs calling back. I even shaved and showed up in my funeral coat. That’s when they cornered me, chatting me up as to my “current employment.” […]

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Haulin’ Ass: Major Puke Risk

Funniest puke story I have took place in icy winter, a woman asking that I halt the taxi and let her blow out. I stopped where we were, which happened to be a slick hilltop. She scrambled out and hit that ice collapsing to her knees in the headlights. The slope of the hill took […]

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Haulin’ Ass: F O H T S W

  Standing on the West Bank corner, a shirtless man wears a bib of dried blood and bellows long, singular tones like a throat singer. People stare but no one engages, even the cops wheeling past like dude is another fiberglass Herky. “We’re in Hell, keep moving,” clucks the smart-eyed girl sitting shotgun. This gets […]

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Haulin’ Ass: Five-by-Five

It’s our first busy weekend of the new school year and I’m hustled out of the office to an address on Westgate. “Get in your cab—we’re neck deep in this shit!” Skipping all start-up procedures, I roar across town, wheeling into Westgate when dispatch hollers over my radio. “#202, where’re you at? Your people are […]

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Haulin’ Ass: Keeping Your Ride

It’s always fun to explain what “SFP” means to a cop. “Dispatch said she was headed SFP,” for example. The cop turns his ear on that, “Where’s that?” “‘Some Fucking Place.’” “Ah.” This is out on Bartelt Road where I’ve been stopped by police. Five officers swarm my taxi, each swinging an assault rifle. Squad […]

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Haulin’ Ass: Graveyard Shift

Weird things are ordinary in our business but things get a little weirder in the summertime. Everything has fallen quiet again, as if the city has exhaled. The traffic has abandoned whole stretches of painted road and the side streets shroud over with full trees. Signals burn red and green at vacant intersections. These lights, […]

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Haulin’ Ass: Keeping Secrets

This is the craziest thing that ever happened in my taxi. One day, many years ago, I got to work and scored an airport run right off the bat. Better yet, it was a package delivery out of a medical lab so pay was guaranteed. Plus, boxes always make decent passengers. I was in the […]

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Haulin’ Ass: Rough Night

Rough night: There’s a raunchy fête at one of the meet markets and ladies too young wander the streets boudoir-style looking like they’ve just emerged from Victoria’s Secret, wolf packs of skinny bitches high on cocaine. Meanwhile, one Ultimate Fighting championship or another is being broadcast at BWW. From corner to corner, ginned-up boys slug […]

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Haulin’ Ass: Talk to the Hand

  Contrary to popular belief, I don’t live in my taxi. Indeed, three nights of seven I’m released from the pound to go downtown where I, too, can be fleeced of cash and risk arrest for public intox, fighting and/or blowing six pitchers in the gutter. This week, however, I received a testy email from […]

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Haulin’ Ass: Clear #202 Headed Back Downtown

I was in court earlier this week pressing assault charges on a fellow citizen and the responding officer pulled me aside: “Jesus H. Christ, did you get a look at her bar?”

The cop was referring to a bar unit built into the garage of the defendant’s home, the whole of it veneered in white Formica and matched with white barstools, the floor decorated with mannequins clad in shining black leather. A sex swing hung from the rafters. I had hauled said defendant home many times previous to the altercation bringing us to court. Too hammered to use the front door, she carried the garage opener in her purse. So yeah, I’ve seen the bar. This is perhaps why I’m playing Peaches on the pleasure-radio tonight. […]

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