"Take me to 1st St. Vincent Street" he said. "Will do," replied the taxi driver. The man approached the cab, smelling of rum and sweat. The stench was so foul, the taxi cab driver had to cover his nose. "Why are you out so late?" asked the cab driver, almost wiping the sweat from his brow. The man looked completely worn out. His face was expressionless, and the only sense of feeling from him was the feeling of disinterest. "No reason." he replied. Silence shrouded the cab for quite awhile. There came a fit of traffic, just in the nick of time to make the two stay together for longer than necessary. The cab driver noticed the man had a name tag on that didn't refer to the place where they had just come from. "You just get off work...uh...Mitch?" "No." he replied. Again, an awkward silence was cooping the two in a box of anxiety. Mitch looked around the cab. Swinging from the mirror w
I write short stories and poetry sometimes. I deconstruct writing standards.