With Uber moving into town and his way of life fast vanishing, his girlfriend moving out on him, and his archenemy-dispatcher suddenly returning to the state on the lam, Lou must keep driving his way through a bedlam shift even when that means aiding and abetting the host of criminal misfits haunting the back seat of his Town Car. Lou―a lapsed novelist and UFO aficionado―drives 70-hour weeks for a ramshackle taxi company that operates on the outskirts of a north Mississippi college town among the trailer parks and housing projects. Written by a former cabbie, The Last Taxi Driver is a darkly comic novel about a middle-aged hackie's daylong descent into madness, heartbreak, and murder.
Francis, available here.Written by a former cabbie, The Last Taxi Driver is equal parts Bukowski and Portis, and an homage to a dying American industry. This story is taken from his book Make Me an Instrument of your Peace: Living in the Spirit of the Prayer of St. Note: For more inspiring writing by Kent Nerbun, see his beautiful website at. But great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "You have to make a living," she answered.Īlmost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. We drove in silence to the address she had given me. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.Īs the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.įor the next two hours, we drove through the city. I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "The doctor says I don't have very long." "I don't have any family left," she continued. "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated."
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. "Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters.
All the furniture was covered with sheets. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. "Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice.
This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation.
Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.