... occasionally I see rich-looking women on Rollerblades gripping leashes and being towed bodily by golden retrievers. That's my kind of jogging.

My big dream back then was to buy an IBM Selectric. I still have that dream. I really ought to buy a word-processor. Half the cabbies at Rocky own computers. They tell me they can write failed novels ten times faster on a PC.

I guided my heap into the heart of Capitol Hill wondering for the first time in fourteen years what I could do to get money besides drive cabs or rob banks. Both occupations had their pros and cons. For instance, bank robbery isn't quite as dangerous as cab driving, but it pays better.

Being a cab river is not unlike being a magician--minus the top hat, the cape, the rabbit, an the gorgeous assistant. But you do have an audience.

I've been broke, and I've been in debt, and broke is better.

It's a funny thing about writing. You get so balled up in a story idea that you lose your perspective and forget that human being might read your words someday.

That was how I was going to get things back to normal-by working. I never thought I would use the words “working” and “normal” in the same sentence, but I'll try anything to avoid facing reality.