8:30 a.m.

Woke up early this morning for some reason. Getting a taxi was a mission; I guess becasue roads are busier at 8:15 a.m. than at my usual time of 9:30 a.m.

The dude had the aircon so cold that when I climbed out of the car my sunglasses misted up before I had even swung the door fully open.

Order has been restored

Well, it's been a while since I wrote anything here; which is because there have not been any really newsworthy rides in taxis. Ironic - the moment I begin the hing, the taxi drivers start to ebhave normally. Go figure.

I was just thinking to myself that it was about time I saw Fuzzy again. Lo and behold, who should pick me up this a.m. I feel like balance has been restored to the universe.

The Fuzzmeister doesn't say much. Seems to have a problem listening, too, since I always have to ask him to go where I want about 3 times before he bothers to acknowledge either by way of a grunt or actually proceeding thence.

Fuzzy

Obviously there is a finite number of taxi drivers, and one begins to recognise some of them. So as I sat in the back of the taxi this morning I decided that I should give them nicknames. The guy who picked me up this morning shall henceforth be known as Fuzzy (because he has sort of wirey, fuzzy hair).

Anyway, fuzzy's taxi is fucked. The suspension is is so shot that it feels like riding a fried egg to work. Also, fuzzy likes to fling the vehicle around a little bit, and is not scared of the brakes.

Undoubtedly the highlight of this morning's journey, however, was when he pulled out his nail clippers and proceeded to clip his fingers.