Union Station purple dawn spilling passengers in the Los Angeles palmy climate and into Sid’s taxi

Santa Monica bound for a producer’s meeting then to San Pedro with a frenzied junky hooking up with a gay sailor

Sid sleeps in a brown over stuffed Union Station chair until the engines’ wheels churn into the crowded platforms

Sid’s front seat holds empty Camel packs and yesterday’s Times blaring another Korea Town murder of a tourist

Taxi cab life takes his soul and baptizes him with big city gangsters, lonely businessmen, women late for the office typing pool, and people who just ran away

Sid motors to a dark Hollywood night spot and waits for a gin and tonic bruised starlet to emerge drunk, sad and angry

Famous or ugly Sid doesn’t care – the fare is the same – eats fish in Venice and tacos at Alvarado street

Some drivers come and leave knowing that a normal life is waiting and calling them to a house in the valley – Sid knows a different life

Sid found his vocation, his calling – Big City cabs, Big City women, Big City food, Big City thinking – Sid is happy….but not every day