Heading home from Tilia tonight meant biking down Hennepin avenue during both heavy traffic and rain. While stalled at a red in front of Le Meridian — I observed. Every taxi driver was picking up as many damp townies with cash in their pockets and looks of panic on their faces as possible. Women galloped gazelle-like into the comfort of strange cars and were willing to stay out longer with men they didn’t like because the logistics of rain seemed more complicated than faking flirtation. I watched, and popped the collar of my jacket.
Sensing the immediacy of the situation and the opportunity it afforded them, these taxis — just like boys at a high school dance during the last song — had become mysteriously and annoyingly mobilized.
A few taxis pulled up to me then, as I was waiting for the light to change. I straightened my specs, took out the hood from my Levi’s Commuter jacket, nodded ‘NO,’ and darted away.