Looking good today, Cab Guy. I can tell because you are about two feet from my bumper. I know that I am perhaps even twice as sexy as you would expect the driver of a '96 Mercury Sable to be, but really all this bumper humping is craziness.
What? You don't just want to be close to me? You are tailgating me because you want to go faster? Well, I am shocked and a little disappointed. But obviously a busy guy such as yourself must be in a hurry to get to your important business meeting at 8:40 on a Thursday night. I know that cabs are really popular in Seattle on account of how HUGE the city is and NOBODY owns their own car.
Let me explain: I too would like to go 60 miles per hour, or dare I say, even more than that. But the station wagon ahead of me likes 55 miles per hour and in these weather conditions, I can understand that. If you will look to your left, Cab Guy, you will see 3 lanes, totally empty. Those lanes are for you, Cab Guy. Those are the proverbial and literal fast lanes. I am waiting for you to pass me. Still waiting. Perhaps if I hit my brakes while gesturing in a left-wardly direction? No?
I am now convinced that this isn't about speed, it's a love connection. Cab Guy who drives like an asshat, email me. I miss your shadowy sillouette.