the cliche that is a weird cab ride

weird cab rides are very cliche, thus for you to write about a cab ride it must have been breathtakingly weird. 

forget the stale nachos, the horribly bad movie not deserving of a big theater screen or of the attention of the idiot that shelled out $11 to escape the world for two hours. pretend there wasn't a guy that somehow helped you end up in that place tonight, but then he was gone and you were  left thinking of what a bad actress kerri russell is and wondering if the other two people in the theater at 11 p.m. were homeless and if they'd stab you or not. 

bypass all that and head straight into a minivan cab that reeks of marijuana, and a driver who tells you it's okay, there's less cars at night. during the day, maybe not a good idea, but night is good he reassures you as you glide through the city streets. 

reflexes, you say. you are sure that it is affecting his reflexes.  your dad, you say. when someone dies behind the wheel it makes you think of anything on wheels being a perfectly good way to die. why does that always seem to get the message through? what is it about saying that death has touched you which touches others?

 dying might be the strongest wake-up call out there.  isn't it ironic?