The snow fell on the ground and it felt just like Christmas as Jack hailed a cab. The yellow cab stopped and the door opened. Jack got in, closed the door, dusted excess snow off his jeans.
"Where to?" said the cabbie tilting his head slightly forward looking up at Jack.
"Home please. Twenty Crescent Lane."
"Right past the bridge?"
"Yes, that’s right," said Jack smiling, bobbing in his seat a bit, holding his knapsack like a small cute girl resting her head on his chest.
"Well buckle up then." The cabbie put his tongue in his cheek, sighed, turned on the meter, and drove down the road. "You look happy. Plans for New Year’s?"
"Definitely," said Jack smiling at the cabbie. "I’m going to stay home, enjoy the night, get some work done."
"Get some work done!" exclaimed the cabbie. "It’s New Year’s Eve! You should be out there. I mean what do you do for excitement?"
Jack blushed slightly. "Well, that’s what I’ll be doing tonight. I’m going to write a story. I write stories. I’m a writer."
The cabbie shook his head. "You should be getting laid."
"What do you do for excitement?" Jack leaned his head back. There may be a story idea coming.
"Me?" The cabbie laughed as he pulled onto the bridge. "I drive a cab. In fact, you know, we should hook you up."
"Hook me up?"
"Yeah, hook you up. Get you driving a cab. I mean, come on? Writing stories? That’s not exciting, plus you don’t make money. Now, driving a cab, you make money. Cab driving, excitement." The cabbie stopped the cab, turned off the ignition, stopped the meter, then tossed the keys to Jack. "Give it a whirl," he said as he took off his seatbelt and stepped out of the cab.
Jack took off his seatbelt, looking at the keys in his hand curiously. "Give it a whirl?" He heard a splash. Jack opened his door and ran to the side of the bridge. He looked to his left and right, but he knew what was down there. Jack went back into the cab, closed both doors, put on his seatbelt, started the engine and drove. "New Year’s excitement, here we come!" He could’ve called the police or maybe at least called the cabbie’s dispatcher, but Jack had to hurry home. He had a story to write.