Reaching for 200

I have distanced myself from the Taxi days. They seem like a blur, but sitting here, waiting for my laundry, I remembered something I hadn't thought about for a long time. I think this kid was the worst thing I saw on the job.

The setting was typical cab driver schtick. Three a.m., call in the severe south, yuppie shit, blah blah blah.

He was the hipster hippy. The hemp necklace and curly, dirty blonde hair. Shorter than me, khaki shorts and backwards hat. Swaying the whole time in the cab during the standardized chit-chat.

"So what's your story?"
"I just graduated."
"What are you doing next?"
Rambling slurred speech about college somewhere, somehow.
"Are you excited?"
"I'm on prozac."
Mild shock silence.
"it's awesome," he said "you don't feel anything."

let me rewrite that for you, highlighting the important parts:

IT'S AWESOME, YOU DON'T FEEL ANYTHING.

That bothered me more than I thought.