no sir.
yes.
i can't sleep nights.
i know. i tried that.
i ride around nights mostly. subways, buses. see things. figur'd i might as well get paid for it.
you kiddin? who else would hack through south bronx or harlem at night?
i'll work anywhere, anytime. i know i can't be choosy.
clean. real clean. as clean as my conscience.
sorry, sir. i didn't mean that.
also clean.
some. here and there.
honorable discharge. may 1971.
no, i want long shifts.
so i hear.
no.
yes, sir.
april 10, 1972. thank god for the rain which has helped wash the garbage and trash off the sidewalks. 
i'm working a single now, which means stretch-shifts, six to six, sometimes six to eight in the a.m., six days a week.
it's a hustle, but it keeps me busy. i can take in three to three-fifty a week, more with skims.
why should it be grounded?
then it's a good guess it's grounded.
have you tried the telephone?
no. 
i work the whole city, up, down, don't make no difference to me - does to some.
some won't take spooks - hell, don't make no difference tom me.
they're all animals anyway. all the animals come out at night: whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets.
each night when i return the cab to the garage i have to clean the come off the back seat. some nights i clean off the blood. 
what is your name? my name is travis.
no, i'm serious, really.
that's fine.
twelve hours of work and i still cannot sleep. the days dwindle on forever and do not end.
all my life needed was a sense of direction, a sense of someplace to go. i do not believe one should devote his life to morbid self- attention, but should become a person like other people.
i first saw her at palantine campaign headquarters at 58th and broadway. she was wearing a yellow dress, answering the phone at her desk. 
she appeared like an angel out of this open sewer. out of this filthy mass. she is alone: they cannot touch her.
hey wizard.
some fleet driver for bell just cut up. just heard it on the radio.
some fleet driver for bell just got cut up. just heard it on the radio.
no, just some crazy fucker. cut have his ear off.
in the jungle. 122nd.
huh?
i have.
nah. i suppose not. 
i want to volunteer.
no. i want to volunteer to you.
because you are the most beautiful woman i have ever seen.
who mam?
oh, i think he's a wonderful man. make a great, great president.
yes, mam. 
welfare, mam? i think the senator's right. people should work for a living. i do. i like to work. every day. get those old coots off welfare and make 'em work for a change.
i'm a good worker, betsy mam, a real good worker.
if you don't mind, mam, i'd rather work for you.
well, betsy mam, i drive a taxi at night. 
if you don't mind, mam, i'd be mighty pleased if you'd go out and have some coffee and pie with me.
well, betsy mam, i drive by this place here in my taxi many times a day. and i watch you sitting here at this big long desk with these telephones, and i say to myself, that's a lonely girl. she needs a friend. and i'm gonna be her friend.
it's just to the corner, mam. in broad daytime. nothing can happen. i'll be there to protect you.
oh, i appreciate that, betsy mam. i'll be here at four o'clock exactly. and.  ah.  betsy.  
my name is travis.
april 26, 1972. four o'clock p.m. i took betsy to the mayfair coffee shop on broadway.
i had black coffee and apple pie with a slice of melted yellow cheese. i think that was a good selection. betsy had coffee and a fruit salad dish. she could have had anything she wanted.
i know what you mean. i've got the same problems. i just can't get things organized. little things, i mean. like my room, my possessions. i should get one of those signs that says, "one of these days i'm gonna organezizied".
i can believe that.
oh, uptown. you know. some joint. it ain't much.
i had a regular job for a while, days. you know, doin' this, doin' that. but i didn't have anything to do at night. i got kinda lonely, you know, just wandering around. so i decided to works nights. it ain't good to be alone, you know.
yeah, well.  in a cab you get to meet people. you meet lotsa people. it's good for you.
just people people, you know. just people. had a dead man once.
he'd been shot. i didn't know that. he just crawled into the back seat, said "west 45th street" and conked out.
i shot the meter off, for one thing. i knew i wasn't goimg to get paid. then i dropped him off at the cop shop. they took him.
oh, you see lots of freaky stuff in a cab. especially when the moon's out.
the full moon. one night i had three or four weirdoes in a row and i looked up and, sure enough, there it was - the full moon.
oh, yeah. people will do anything in front of a taxi driver. i mean anything. people too cheap to rent a hotel room, people scoring dope, people shooting up, people who want to embarrass you. it's like you're not even there, not even a person. nobody knows you.
i know. i could have picked you up.
late one night. about three. at the plaza.
no. it was you. you had some manila folders and a pink bag from saks.
if it wasn't for a drunk i would have picked you up. he wanted to go to the dmz. 
south bronx. the worst. i tried to ditch him, but he was already in the cab, so i had to take him. that's the law. otherwise i would have picked you up.
you'd be surprised how often you see the same people, get the same fare. people have patterns. they do more or less the same things every day. i can tell.
i didn't mean you. but just ordinary people. a guy i know - dough-boy - met his wife that way. they got to talking. she said she usually caught the bus so he started picking her up at the bus stop, taking her home with the flag up.
well, no.  not really.  had some famous people in the cab. i got this guy who makes lasers. not regular lasers, not the big kind. little lasers, pocket sized, small enough to clip your belt like a transistor radio, like a gun, you know. like a ray gun. zap.
i work a single, which means there's no replacement - no second man on the cab. six to six, sometimes eight. seventy-two hours a week.
sometimes 76 or 80. sometimes i squeeze a few more hours in the morning. eighty miles a day, a hundred miles a night.
it keeps ya busy.
what?
i'm no pusher, betsy. honest. i never have pushed.
i didn't mean that, travis. just the part about the contradiction.
oh. who was that again?
yeah. yes. i don't follow music too much.
you work at night, you get an instinct. you can smell them. the big tippers, the stiffs, the trouble makers. quarter is good tip for manhattan. queens is better, brooklyn is best. go for the guys with suitcases. the rich are the worst tippers, hooks are lousy. spooks are okay, but they don't live at park ave after all.
i called betsy again at her office, and she said maybe we could go to a movie together after she gets off work tomorrow. that's my day off. at first she hesitated, but i called her again and she agreed. betsy. betsy what? i forgot to ask her last name again. damn. i've got to remember stuff like that.
say, aren't you charles palantine, the candidate?
well, i'm one of your biggest supporters. i tell everybody that comes in this cab that they should vote for you.
i'm sure you'll win, sir. everybody i know is going to vote for you. i was going to put one of your stickers on my taxi but the company said it was against their policy.
i don't know, sir. i don't follow political issues much.
well, he should clean up this city here. it's full of filth and scum. scum and filth. it's like an open sewer. i can hardly take it.
some days i go out and smell it then i get headaches that just stay and never go away. we need a president that would clean up this whole mess. flush it out.
damn straight.
thank you, sir. you're a good man, sir.
he'll, what else can i do with it all?
yeah, well my stereo player is broke. but i'm sure the record is ok.
i don't follow music much. i'd like to though. honest.
no. i thought maybe you could play it for me on your player.
i bought a couple of tickets.
no, these are the kind that couples go to. they're not like the other movies. all kinds of couples go. honest. i've seen them. 
damn.
i forgot to get the coca-cola.
where are you going?
what do you mean?
well, i don't follow movies too much.
this is sort of high class.
well.  mostly.
we can go to another movie if you like, i don't care. i got money. there's plenty.
 there's plenty of movies around here. i haven't seen any of them, but i'm sure they're good.
you mean you don't want to go to a movie? there's plenty of movies around here.
huh?
but.  betsy.
what about the record?
can i call you? 
please, betsy, i bought it for you.
but i got a taxi.
may 8, 1972. my life has taken another turn again. the days move along with regularity.
 one day indistinguishable from the next, a long continuous chain, then suddenly - there is a change.
i tried to call her several times.
you feeling better? you said you didn't feel so good.
but after the first call, she would no longer come to the phone.
i also sent flowers with no luck. i should not dwell on such things, but set them behind me. the smell of the flowers only made me sicker. the headaches got worse i think i've got stomach cancer. i should not complain so. "you're only as healthy as you feel."
i realize now how much she is like the others, so cold and distant. many people are like that. they're like a union.
i'm off duty.
no, i'm off duty.
it was on. it just takes a while to warm up. like a tv.
yeah.
yeah.
20 bucks?
you got a .44 magnum?
i got money.
i want a .32. revolver. and a palm gun. that .22 there.
how much for everything.
how much to get a permit to carry? 
nah, this'll be fine.
is there a firing range around?
huh?
yeah. i was all around. one hospital, then the next. 
they'd never get me to go back. they'd have to shoot me first. you got anything to carry these in?
huh?
nah. i ain't interested.
may 29, 1972. i must get in shape. too much sitting has ruined my body. twenty-five push-ups each morning, one hundred sit-ups, one hundred knee-bends. i have quit smoking.
total organization is necessary. every muscle must be tight.
my body fights me always. it won't work, it won't sleep, it won't shit, it won't eat.
the idea had been growing in my brain .
 for some time. true force. all the king's men cannot put it back together again.
listen you screwheads: here is a man .
 who wouldn't take it any more, a man who stood up against the scum, the cunts, the dogs, the filth. here is .
hey 'melio.
hey dude! 
you're gonna have to cover me on this one, 'melio. i can't stay for the cop show.
the hell i can't. it's no sweat for you. what is this for you, number five?
thanks a lot.
damn, damn.
slow.
hey wiz, just a second. i wanna talk to you.
hey wiz.
wiz?
look, ah, we never talked much, you and me.
i wanted to ask you something, on account you've been around so long.
well, i just, you know.
real down.
sometimes it gets so i just don't know what i'm gonna do. i get some real crazy ideas, you know? just go out and do somethin.
yeah.
like do anything, you know.
that's just about the dumbest thing i ever heard, wizard.
neither do i, i guess.
thanks.
are you a secret service man?
i've seen a lot of suspicious- looking people around here today.
oh, lots. i don't know where they all are now. there used to be one standing over there.
is it hard to get to be a secret service man?
i kinda thought i might make a good one. i'm very observant.
i was in the army too. and i'm good with crowds.
what kind of guns do you guys use? .38's?
you would, huh?
my name is henry krinkle -- that's with a "k." k-r-i-n-k-l-e. i live at 13 1. 2 hopper avenue, fair lawn, new jersey. zip code 07410. got that?
great, hey. thanks a lot.
june 11. eight rallies in six more days. the time is coming.
dear father and mother, june is the month, i remember, which brings not only your wedding anniversary, but also father's day and mother's birthday. i'm sorry i can't remember the exact dates, but i hope this card will take care of all of them. i'm sorry i again can not send you my address like i promised to last year, but the sensitive nature of my work for the army demands utmost secrecy. i know you will understand. i am healthy and well and making lots of money. i have been going with a girl for several months and i know you would be proud if you could see her.
sorry, officer.
no, officer.
i hope this card finds you all well, as it does me. i hope no one has died. don't worry about me. one day there will be a knock on the door and it will be me.
hello.
well. i guess so.
you name sport?
your name sport?
i'm no cop. i want some action. 
shit.
i'm no cop.
i'm hip.
why you hang around with them greasers?
yeah. from the likes of them.
what's your name?
that ain't much of a name.
what's your real name?
what's your real name?
that's a nice name.
don't you remember me? button your shirt.
i drive a taxi. you tried to get away one night. remember? 
you tried to run away in my taxi but your friend -- sport -- wouldn't let you.
it don't matter. i'm gonna get you outta here.
i don't want to make it. i came here to get you out.
can't you listen to me? don't you want to get out of here?
but you're the one that wanted to get away. you're the one that came into my cab.
do they drug you? 
listen.
i want to help you.
fuck it! fuck it! fuck it! fuck it! fuck it! fuck it! fuck it!
don't you understand anything?
do you understand why i came here?
don't you want to go?
but that one night?
well, i tried.
can i see you again?
no, i mean really. this is nothing for a person to do. 
well tomorrow noon there's a.  i got a.
o.k. it's a date. i'll see you here, then.
so long, iris. sweet iris.
here's the twenty bucks, old man. you better damn well spend it right.
where is home?
where?
i ain't ever been there, but it don't seem like such a bad place.
but you can't live like this. it's hell. girls should live at home.
young girls are supposed to dress up, go to school, play with boys, you know, that kinda stuff.
at least i don't walk the streets like a skunk pussy. i don't screw and fuck with killers and junkies.
that fella "sport" looks like a killer to me.
huh?
he looks like a killer.
he shoots dope too.
he's worse than an animal. jail's too good for scum like that.
i never been to a commune. i don't know. i saw pictures in a magazine, and it didn't look very clean to me.
me? i could never go to a place like that.
i.  i don't get along with people like that.
besides, i've got to stay here. 
i've got something important to do. i can't leave.
i can't say -- it's top secret. i'm doing something for the army. the cab thing is just part time.
do i look like a narc?
what are you going to do about sport and that old bastard?
you just gonna leave 'em?
cops don't do nothin.
you can't leave 'em to do the same to other girls. you should get rid of them.
i don't know. just should, though. somebody should kill 'em. nobody'd miss 'em.
i'm sorry, iris. i didn't mean that.
well, iris, i look at it this way. a lot of girls come into my cab, some of them very beautiful. and i figure all day long men have been after them: trying to touch them, talk to them, ask them out. and they hate it. so i figure the best i can do for them is not bother them at all. so i don't say a thing. i pretend i'm not even there. i figure they'll understand that and appreciate me for it.
i think you should go home, but otherwise i think you should go. it would be great for you. you have to get away from here. the city's a sewer, you gotta get out of it.
i can't. otherwise, i would.
i'll give you the money to go. i don't want you to take any from those guys.
i want to -- what else can i do with my money? you may not see me again--for a while.
my work may take me out of new york.
my whole life has pointed in one direction. i see that now. there never has been any choice for me.
loneliness has followed me all my life. the life of loneliness pursues me wherever i go: in bars, cars, coffee shops, theaters, stores, sidewalks. there is no escape. i am god's lonely man.
i am not a fool. i will no longer fool myself. i will no longer let myself fall apart, become a joke and object of ridicule. i know there is no longer any hope. i cannot continue this hollow, empty fight. i must sleep. what hope is there for me?
hey, sport. how are things?
how are things in the pimp business, hey sport? 
i'm here to see iris.
yeah, iris. you know anybody by that name?
you carry a gun?
get it.
show it to me.
now suck on that.
pgghew! pgghew!
hey charlie t.
shit.
hello, betsy.
i see where palantine got the nomination.
well, i hope he wins.
oh, i got over that. it was nothing, really. the papers always blow these things up. a little stiffness. that'll go away. i just sleep more, that's all.
here we are.
no, no, please. this fare's on me. please.
yeah.
Sure.