I’ll give you a true-life “bullshit night in Boston” story. I was driving cab for Checker, which had a big garage next to Fenway Park. It was one of the best jobs I’ve ever had because I learned something new every day. In any event my driver’s side window was stuck in the open position one night but it was warm out and not raining so I didn’t mind.

So I was making my way south from Tremont in heavy traffic when two stone psychopaths — guys with ugly complexions and madness in their eyes who looked like Hells Angels rejects — hailed me. I wouldn’t have stopped but traffic was temporarily stalled and I couldn’t move, and so the two psychos started walking straight for me. Trouble. Possible theft if they got in. Couldn’t happen.

Just then the traffic broke and I started to slowly pull away, and as I drove past them I said, “I can’t take you, man…I’m on my way to a pickup.” Which of course was a lie. One of the psychos said “fuck you, asshole!” and kicked the rear of the cab as I started pulling away. I got angry and made the huge mistake of flipping them the bird as I drove off. A bad idea because traffic stalled again and I was stuck there with my window open. The two psychos ran up and started slugging and spitting. One of them kicked my driver-door rearview mirror, knocking it off. I howled back and tried to block their attacks with my left arm, but they landed a couple of good ones and raised a bump or two. The saliva was the worst part. The traffic broke again and I hit the gas and was finally free.

A half-hour later I got a radio call request for my cab (#50) to pick up a fare at a certain address, which I naturally ignored. They called again, complaining that I hadn’t showed up. I had to explain to the dispatcher what was going on, etc.