Emeryville

I rang the door bell near Buena Vista Park. After the second ring, he came running down the stairs, but he took the last three with one jump. He was wearing pyjama pants. He said

"I need to go to Emeryville. But I'm not ready yet."
"I'll wait." (Emeryville is on the other side of the Bay Bridge and thus one of the longer fares I would get that day.)
"But you have other fares to tend to."
"You're a fare. A pretty good one too."
"You're right. Do you want to come up?"
"Okay."

I followed him into his apartment. He had a lot of cats. I saw at least four. Most of them were black. I lied belly-down on his couch while he took a shower. Then I watched him pack, mostly black things. They looked like girl's clothes. He was very tall and skinny. Some weird slow music was playing in his living-room. It had no beat.

When he was ready, we walked down and got in the cab. He sat in the front. Nobody ever does that. I took him to his office in Emeryville. The fare was $29.85. He gave me $40. That's 34% and definitely above average.

"Do you want a tour of the office?"
"Okay, for a second. I have fares to pick up."

He showed me his office. All the walls were painted black, and the ceilings were very high. He made his computer play some Justin Timberlake. He also told me that Going Back to Cali is not actually by the Beastie Boys but by LL Cool J. I felt slightly embarrassed. I looked at the colors on his computer. Black background with blue and green and pink text.

"I should go."
"Yes, you should."

He walked me out of the office.

"Thanks for the ride."
"My pleasure."