City of Pho: America

A Story by Abishai100

Cabbie narrated his own buried time-capsule tell about night-passenger darkness in Cali mixed with some bizarre alien-femme encounter of sci-fi thesauruses.

A night visions story mixing themes from Collateral (Tom Cruise) and Species (Natasha Henstridge). Thanks for reading,

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I was driving a cab on Los Angeles, and I had my routine for good. It was regular for me with no anticipations of anything outrageous or unusual. Maybe that's why what happened to me is what happened to me, and no one would think a regular Algerian-American cabbie patriot-man would find stranger acid consciousness for Western (American Homeland) consciousness (damn).

My name's Amlan Satan, and my mom wrote to me from South Africa reminding me why a life as an American cabbie would be good for me, for my normalized American Dream. I had this dream of opening a bistro for Cali-residents, and everything would be cool. I was driving one night thinking about that dream of excellence (Facebook-like!).

I was in my great reddish-line Angele-cab (car!) when I picked up Max. He told me he wanted to drive around LA at night, and it was 10pm (Saturday), but he didn't care. He had tons of money, so I didn't mind. He was typing very fast on his laptop in his car, using his smartphone as a convenient hotspot (sure). Then, at around 11pm, he told me he wanted me to make a series of stops, at 4 different hotels, and I didn't ask why (Selfie-like).

MAX: That's 2 hotels down, and 2 to-go, Mr. Satan (Amlan?).

AMLAN (Me): Thanx, Mister-Max; I wonder what you did, but maybe tourist-IQ?

MAX: Don't worry about it, Mr. Satan...maybe I'm making hits (assassin-jobs).

AMLAN (Me): That's funny, but a weird language, Mister-Max; I feel jitters now!

MAX: We got 2 more hotels, so I'll confide in you; I'm actually a hit-man.

AMLAN (Me): What, like serious...for the mafia or something, Jesus?

MAX: It's something against a mafia-conference with guests at 4-hotels.

AMLAN (Me): Why're you telling me this?

MAX: Just told you in case something spills, and you ask, Amlan Satan.

AMLAN (Me): Jesus, you're being honest; look, I won't say anything, for work.

MAX: I know that, Amlan Satan; since I'd have to dispose of your cab-goodness!

AMLAN (Me): Not what I expected on Earth.

MAX: Night on Earth, Amlan Satan....like that film (Night on Earth)...ha!

AMLAN (Me): Jim Jarmusch...I've seen it (Facebook-like).

What could I expect from this evil passenger/customer/roadie? He was a real assassin. I had 2 extra credit stops to make and to save my puny life (damn). However, me and Max had something extra credit to go through (together!). You see, he had two more stops to make, and I didn't have choice but to complete this work of incomplete darkness (wow). However, Max was about to get a shock as I had (wow). This was Selfie-like (for the Ego or bureaucracy-arts).

MAX: Like my handgun?

AMLAN (Me): I saw the ad in a magazine, actually, Mister-Max.

MAX: I use it to kill...just about for anything, Amlan Satan (wow).

AMLAN (Me): Hey, look at that lady standing on the street with lights in her hair.

MAX: Pick her up (now!).

AMLAN (Me): What, like serious, Mister-Max?

MAX: It'll be like that ad for my gun you saw in magazine-culture (do it!).

The lady we picked up in the Angeles-street, with a red-dress and some Xmas-lights in her hair, was too impressive for this hitman wanderer of darkness ('Mister-Max') I picked up for him, or without him really (since once-more I had no choice in the matter as a cabbie-of-goodness!). She got in, and Max asked her if she was part of the mafia-conference as a maidservant; that's when she transformed, before our beady human/Earthling eyes into a hideous and terrifying alien 'specter' and revealed she was a spy from Mars.

ALIEN: I live underground; I'm infiltrating your capitalist-civilization (cities).

MAX: I have to kill you like anyone else or some being-account, as Earth-man?

ALIEN: Kill or be part of my colonization agenda for leviathan, hit-man.

AMLAN (Me): I'd rather be watching Alien (damn).

Max shot that alien in the forehead and then had me pull into a garage where he burned her into ashes and then dumped the ashes into some sewer grate on the sidewalk of Los Angeles (wow). We drove at the morning to a hot-dog vendor stop and he got me 2 hot-dogs (with relish) and himself just one. He told me to drop him off at LAX, since he'd pardon the last to targets, those last 2 hotel pit-stops of darkness. He also recommended we keep that alien-hit work a deep-secret; since we wouldn't want to be mingling in any Martian giant-scheme of Earth-culture invasion thorax for paranoia (damn). I'm telling you this in a time-capsule written tell, imagery-rich, for some future-world archaeologist to find to make for 'discovery' in my capitalist-themed universe. Thanx for reading/understanding this darkness (for leviathan).