Ken Crost Digital Fine Art

The Story

 

A yellow cab, driven by Max, a seasoned cab driver and sometime standup comic, splashed through the rain-soaked street known as Broadway, its windshield wipers working furiously to keep Max’s view clear. The early evening darkness was only intensified by the thick sheets of rain pouring down from the sky. 

Max's passenger was a woman in her mid-thirties. She was pretty, but not too pretty, and looked like someone who wouldn't be easy to approach and have a long intellectual conversation with. Just his type. He didn't ask her name, and she didn't offer it, which only added to the mystery of this woman. As they made their way through the deserted streets, Max couldn't help but let his imagination run wild. He wondered about the woman's story, what brought her out on such a ghastly weather night, and what adventures awaited her. 

Max's mind was always spinning, constantly coming up with new ideas for his standup routines, and that was what he liked best about driving a cab – plenty of time for creative thoughts. He imagined the woman as a spy for some foreign government, someone who had seen the world in ways that he could only dream of. 

As they arrived at the woman's destination, Max watched her step out of the cab and disappear into the night. She didn’t say goodbye nor did he. And once she was gone, he wondered whether she had ever really existed. But there was something about this woman that he couldn't shake. Maybe it was her piercing blue eyes or the way she held herself with a sense of purpose. Whatever it was, Max was hooked. He sat for a few minutes by the curb and grabbed a small notebook and scribbled some notes about his mystery woman. Although they never spoke a word to each other, Max’s imagination was running wild with ideas. Max knew that he may have just found the inspiration for a new standup routine. Could he make it funny? But that’s the job of a standup, make those things that don’t seem funny, funny.

Max drove off into the night and rain, his mind already racing with ideas. Two more hours of work and then the fun begins, he thought to himself as he anticipated a few hours of productive writing. He turned a corner onto Washington street as he spied his next fare.

As he pulled up, Max couldn't help but smile, knowing that his job as a cab driver not only paid the bills but also gave him endless inspiration for his comic gig. An older man entered his cab and settled in. Max looked back at him, “Where to?” The man hesitated briefly and replied, “Just drive man, just drive.” Max and his cab headed out into the foul night air. Max looked into his mirror at the man in the back and smiled once again. “Just tell me when to stop.”