He was a sort of taxi-driver, delivering
a commuter to the city. The tank traps and
armored cars were the hazards of the trade!
I had spent my last brass ten-dollar piece on a cup of coffee eight hours before, but I had to get into the city. This was the only idea I had left.
"You've got me wrong," I said. "I'm not a customer. I want a job."
"Yeah?" He looked at me again, with a different expression, like a guy whose new-found girl friend has just mentioned a price.
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