Waiting for a cab

The rain was still falling, it made the streets look like strips of sheetmetal offcuts burning with embers of glowing wet traffic. I sat with my back up against a large window that met with the curb I
was using as a seat just out from the main strip. It was just past 430am and all I could think about
was my bed. But instead I was waiting for a cab.
My a*s was numb and head pounding with the music I had been getting wrecked to, as far as it was
concerned the DJ was still at the decks and searching the racks. The tangy vacuum my mouth was becoming gagged for something non-alcoholic so I decided to lie back and inhale the rain, but my body favoured the rag doll slump against the wall.
The rain was steady, the traffic was sparce. I was losing myself between tucking-into-bed moments and the curtain of precipitation at my feet that someone passing by would think either state would suit the expression I had, it merely disguised the enthusiasum I was summoning to make the former become a reality, but for f***s sake, where was my cab?

The sound of fizzing tyres through drenched bitumen tore the curtain open for a second, I scrambled a look but the red of the first colour sweeping by dropped my interest as fast as the vehicle passing. It was white I reminded my inebriated conscience that I needed to be a little more alert for. Dam cabs.

Just like a gap at the grocery checkout there never seems to be one when you want one. Down again Mr Slumpy. I was passed frustration, too much CC and Coke soaked up the ability to be, so I relinquished in sigh. Dam cabs.

If the sun rises soon I'm heading for the park for a sleep. Theres no way I'm passing out here for
everyone to see, I'd rather be pushing up daisies. I felt depressed under the weight of submission. It
was still raining, walking seemed like a samurai's answer to an honourable deathwish, that was marginally above the pavement mattress idea, and who was I kidding, sleeping in the wet bushes was
better? This sux man. Bloody cabs.

I leaned off the glass to try and rigour a sober thought.
"I've got to hunt down a cab. I need to get home, this is insane!"
I pulled myself up with some help from the window, and wavered to my feet. I fumbled my shirt back into my jeans, and got a bit more comfy in them as a typical male does, and stood back like John Wayne would during a standoff. I wobbled one way then realised going the other was a better idea, all in one motion, to the confusion of my feet. I fended off the window which seemed to fall on me as I made my way otherwise. The haze the road was just a moment ago became clearer that cars and taxis were now decipherable.

A cab broke through the mist of diz and instinctively I raised a floppy arm. Straight passed it hissed,
tunnelling through rain like a surfer in the pipe, it sure wasn't going to give me a ride. I couldn't tell whether it had passengers or not, but I followed its frothy trail at a wavering stand-still anyway and cursed my luck and the driver with it. Down the path I continued.

Two more cars sprayed by, lucky buggers I continued cursing. I wondered whether they were on their way home or on their way to work. In a marching half stumbling manner I managed to kick on, I was making ground, an admirable effort considering half of me refused to cooperate. The more I walked the more I thought of bed, was I now actually dreaming? The soft texture of the pillow cradling my face and the quilted blanket up to my collar wrapped into the padded bliss of my spring-comfort mattress, I was drooling for a sleep, I could taste the dream like an icecream melting over my lips on a steamy summer day, covered with gumdrops and chocolate chips and....suddenly a shreiking piercing scream knocked the icecream right out of my hands and blinded like a rabbit in the headlights I skid-halted to a stand-still, arms waving to right-me in a stunned imbalanced act of shear drunk stupor day-dreaming unawareness, it was right then I realised I had crossed right in front of traffic. I sheilded my eyes from the beam and retreated slothfully.

A cab!

I rushed up to the door, and poked inside, "Hey man, I really need a ride, I'm desperate to get home....uh sorry about walking out 'hic' back there", then I flipped out a 50 and said "its yours if you can make it happe - 'hic' make it happen". Trying my best to control my comatised stroll and speech
afflictions. He shook his head slowly, I immediately sunk in rejection. What's
it going to take, an armed holdup? My enthusiasm and mental aquaintance was rapidly losing grip on reality. I looked up again trying to find some feeble excuse to offer, and with his head still shaking, obviously in candid agreement, he relaxed and said "Yeah sure bud, where?"

"Home". I grinned.

Reviews

[Monners]

ahh, drunken nights and awful attempts at getting gracefully home. taxis are a fun ordeal as well. nicely written.