It was Friday night, the kids were back at university, and the town was alive. An endless stream of taxis and buses disgorged their human cargoes into the maelstrom of the city center. Crowds hogged the bars and spilled onto pavements and roads. The town was full and split at the seams. Friday night—best earner of the week. Except it wasn’t. Too many short trips, too many Lark Lanes and Garstons, too many ‘just the end of the street please mate,’ from girls showing more tit than he’d seen last year on the Costa Del Sol. Carl banged the steering wheel in frustration. His tips were shite. He stopped outside the Philharmonic Dining Rooms, peered through the windscreen and looked at his pick-up. The guy wore a green jacket, combat pants and a baseball cap. A small rucksack was at his feet and in his hand an expanding type briefcase. Carl frowned. By the looks of it, he wasn’t about to break his run of bad luck. The guy shuffled across the road and got into the back of the cab.
