It was about 12:15 on a warm Thursday night in August. I drove my cab down the street, humming to the tune on the radio as I aproached my detination.
By the time I reached the Sheriton, it had started raining. The windshield wipers slid back and forth in front of my face as the door opened and two passangers climbed in.
"236 Spruce Street please," said the gentleman.
"Sure thing buddy." I spat out my usual reply as I began driving and listening to the conversation unfolding in the back seat.
"I have to tell you Laura, Jim can sometimes rub me the wrong way," the gentleman remarked to his companion.
"He is a bit overly friendly. I guess he didn't want to ignore me."
"To me, a wave or a casual hello is being friendly. Walking up and trying togive somebody a back massage is an attempt to be more than friendly."
"Maybe so, but nothing more would ever happen."
"Yes, I know that there isn't anthing between you two any more."
"Absolutely. You are so understanding," she smiled as she gave him a big hug. He returned the gesture.
In the rear view mirror, I could see the two of them ebrace. They began to kiss pasionately. I was distracted and didn't notice the red light we were approaching.
We got halfway into the intersection before I realized that there were cars coming at us. The mini-van smashed into the left side of my cab with enough force to throw us off the road. I was knocked unconsious.
I wasn't until I came to in the hospital that I learned that my two pasangers had been killed in the accident. Since that day, I haven't driven a cab. And they say that the rear view mirror is for safety.