The cab rattled. Louie was silent. I looked forward to being in my hotel suite. I wondered how much I should tip Louie when we got to the hotel. I decided to get the conversation rolling again.
"So how did it come to pass that you drove a cab in Bridgeport for 43 years?" I asked.
Louie rubbed his chin. Then he took a swig of the Coke he'd been nursing. "My old man was in the plumbers union. When work was slow or there was a strike, he'd drive cab to make ends meet. I used to ride around with him. I liked the two-way radio and all the kooky people who got in the cab. When I got old enough to drive I got a hack license like my old man. That's how I bought my first car. Basically, I like being my own boss. And I like the fact that each day is different. At least that's how I used to see things. Now each day seems the same. Every now and then I get a fare like this one to break up the monotony. Otherwise it's just the same old thing, day in and day out. Somehow, 43 years went by. I'll tell ya, I've seen a lot of wacky things happen."
"Yeah, like what?"
"I been shot at. I found guns in the cab. I found money on the back seat. I've had people jump out of the cab while it's moving. I've seen tons of wrecks. I seen a guy on a motorcycle get decapitated. One time, a lady had a baby in the cab."
"You never married? No kids?"
"Oh sure I did. A woman named Estelle is my ex-wife. We divorced after three years. I think she wanted someone who made more money and worked less hours. We had a kid. Lori. She's 24 now."
We got off I-91 at exit 29A and merged onto Whitehead Highway. At the roundabout we turned onto Wells Street. Wells turned into Trumbull Street and then we turned left onto Asylum Street and arrived at The Homewood Suites Hotel. Louie popped the trunk.
"Listen, thanks for ride." I said.
"No problem, Mister!" Louie replied. I handed him $200.00. His eyes flashed, however subdued.