* * *

I picked them up outside the bus station at 10:45, a round-faced young colored cabbie said, no more than twenty-five, and they were arguing but I can’t tell you about what. I had to load a couple of heavy pieces of luggage in my trunk, a footlocker and a metal suitcase.

The guy had me drop them at Columbo’s Bar at 3132 South Kingshighway. They paused and seemed about to cross the street where there are a couple of used car lots. Then they made like a bee to honey into that bar, guy dragging the footlocker and the blonde lugging the suitcase. They could hardly manage it, heavy as that stuff was and drunk as skunks as they was.

* * *

Maybe two o’clock in the afternoon, the middle-aged heavyset cabbie said, I was in the Old Shillelagh Bar at 3157 Morganford Road, catching a few innings of the World Series—sixth and deciding game! Yankees beat the Dodgers four to three.

Guy sat down next to me…Huh? No, he didn’t have a woman with him. Watched a while, had a drink or two; said his name was Steve Strand, like that was a big deal. Musta noticed my cap, because he said, ‘You on duty? I can use a ride to Hampton Village.’ You know, the shopping center? He was looking for an appliance store, but neglected to say so. They don’t got one at Hampton Village, and Jesus, there’s one right across from where we was before at the Shillelagh!

I take him to Petruso Electrical Appliance and he buys a radio for twenty-eight bucks. Says he likes to keep track of the news. I say, yeah, I like to be up on things, too. He wanted a box for it but the clerk only had a box that was too big. That only made the guy happy. He said, ‘It swims in this one!’ A nut, this guy. And drunk, though not falling-down drunk. Just loosey goosey.

I drop him and his big box with the little radio on Arsenal Street, and good riddance.

* * *

No, I’m not with Ace Cabs—I’m with the Laclede Company, the driver said, Negro and older than the others, hair and mustache salt-and-pepper. But Mr. Costello here called my supervisor and I’m glad to help out.

I picked this Steve Strand fare up at the Squeeze Box tavern at 3225 Morganford Road. He was drunk. I would say very drunk. And he was free with his money in a way that could get him in trouble.…How so? He got in, handed me a twenty-dollar bill, and said, ‘Just drive. Just drive around.’ Then, as I did that, he dozed off.

He woke up after five, perhaps ten, minutes. Said, ‘I’d like to have a girl. I don’t want to go to a whorehouse, understand! I want a nice girl.’

I told him I didn’t provide that kind of service. He handed me up a second twenty-dollar bill and…well, that’s a lot of money. I told him I could drive him downtown to a driver I knew who might help him. That pleased him.