Boredom

"I'm a whore," he told me, "or a boy toy - depends on the action. Woman or men. I do 'em both. Tonight I'll be a harlot and a gigolo."

If this sounds like a strange way for a stranger to start a conversation, it's because you've never driven cab. I didn't know what to say so I drove on in silence.

"I'm famous. I'm in all the porno magazines. Last night, I did a well-known female politician from Washington. I get customers from Europe. You have to book me three months in advance."

I looked him over in the mirror: average height, average built, average face.

"Nothing personal," I told him, "but you're not going to make anyone forget Leonardo DiCaprio."

"I'm hung," he said laconically.

"How'd you get into the business?"

"I started doing Polk Street perverts when I was 15 and went up from there. Tonight I'm doing a husband and wife professor team. They say they want to use me for research."

"Meaning?"

"Oh, I don't know ... he'll probably fuck me in the ass while I fuck her or visa versa. Once they see my cock they usually want to suck it. Maybe we'll do a wheel."

"Wheel?"

"A circle 69."

"Sounds exciting."

"It's not," he said as he paid the bill.

He stepped half out of the cab then turned back to me, saying in an exhausted voice,

"You can't believe how boring it all is."