"Airport? Gotcha." The cabbie slipped onto the wood anti-sweat cushion. Not that it did any good. The back of the cab smelled of sweaty butt-crack, dog, and recycled beer all topped of with a whiff of vomit--the perfect nosegay for a lousy day.
"Hey, you were at dat Writer's convention didn't you? Well How'd a like to hear my story. Gotta be better than all desperate crying would-be authors crying their eyes out over some guy who kept saying no, no, no. I got a real story. It's fiction, not semi-half-lies like those glibertarians you see on the political screamfests but a real, gung-ho mystery."
"I'm not getting starbursts." EE slid behind the cabbie, trying to hide. The cabbie adjusted the mirror so he could see EE.
"It starts with an old crone screaming, harpy-like. She's hot and mad like Our Lady of Perpetual Outrage. She big time voodoo momma: I warned you boy's not to drink old man dickface's moonshine but you boys could never listen to what your elders tell ya. Now look at what you become... Dumb as dirt, roach-infested zombies. I could've turned you idjuts into goats and you'd still be alive. No one wants zombie goats."
EE noticed the highway sign and spoke up. "Uh driver. It's Newark airport, not Kennedy."
"Aw shit! You shoulda said 'Newark' when you got in. Now it's goin' to take two hours to get to Newark."
"I'm so lucky."
"Don't go all pearl clutchy fella. You'll make your flight. This gives me time to tell you all about my climax. I got a really fierce orgasmic ending. It's kinda like Macheath's not being hung, but instead of Deus Queen Lizzy as Machina, I give'em a walkin', talkin' Clenis issuing a pardon."
"Driver, you can let me out here."