“Nice weather. The trees are wilting with their luminous leaves.”
EE looks up, alert like corn at the sound of a locust. He belatedly notices the cab driver’s spectacles, and the calluses on his thumbs from hitting the space bar repeatedly. EE’s joke that a writer would be desperate enough to pose as a cab driver and kidnap him in order to worm his way into a contract has become reality! He lunges for the door. The locks slam up. He tugs at the handle, but it doesn’t move. EE relaxes back into his seat with pretended nonchalance. He even checks his manicure. “That’s good, real good. You ever consider becoming a writer?” he asks with no trace of sarcasm.
Cab driver glances at EE in the mirror. “Yeah, funny you ask. 5000 rejection letters for my masterpiece, “Lord of Flatulence.” I’m still waiting for a response from a guy called Evil Editor. It’s my last chance. Do you know him?”
Evil Editor shrugs. “No, but he’s a big cheese. They say he would eat writers for lunch, but they aren’t rich enough.” Evil Editor discreetly checks the door handle again, yup, locked.
Cab driver says, “Lord of Flatulence is a 124,895 word epistle on the loveliness of frogs in the sunshine. It is a classic romance which will sell millions of copies.”
Evil Editor nods. “Sounds like beans on toast. A real bestseller.” He mutters, “If we were all frogs.”
Continues cab driver, “I also have another novel entitled “The Loveliness of Cab Drivers,” 35,678 words, more or less. A cab driver walks into a bar and….”
Evil Editor interrupts. “Really good. You should teach this stuff.” He jimmies the lock with his Evil Editor Writer Escape Kit, lifts one eyebrow, and escapes into the sunset.