In about a minute, I unscrewed the cap of another one of those little bottles and sucked it down faster than the first one. I'm not sure the cabbie saw, or even cared. I guess he felt sorry, or maybe disgusted, with me, so he just drove on. I decided I needed to strike up some kind of conversation, because isn't that what I was supposed to do?
'Hey, man, I just want to thank you again for cutting me some slack with the fare. I've been going through some pretty rough times lately, and I'm trying to get some help.' Then I stopped, and thought for a second. "If you give me your name and an address, when I get some cash, I'll send it to you.' And I meant it. The alcoholic sincerity was kicking in. 'I've never been the same since I came back and I gotta get some help. I'm just stuck real bad right now, I don't know.' I leaned back in the seat, opened another mini bottle, drank it down, and waited.
After a minute, he said, 'Thanks, but don't worry about it. I own this company. I'm making plenty of money. I'm just glad I can help you out. Just do me a favor. When you get back, get in touch with someone who can help you. And, again, thanks for serving. You probably don't hear that enough.' At that point, I felt like I'd been hearing it too much. But I knew that I would be home shortly, so I killed that last little bottle of wine and stared out the window, wondering what was next.
We pulled into the driveway, I said goodbye, and he said 'take care' and drove away. I stood in the rain for a second, then opened the shared front door of the duplex I had been living in, only to find all of my stuff bagged and boxed, sitting there in the hallway. Crap, I thought. This just keeps getting better and better.
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