New prose by Don Cole.

Napkin please

A puker opened the door and sprayed frozen, insane rose peddles on the inside of the door. She was so beautiful, just of bar age, and it was the faintest smelling puke I ever smelled. But there had to be someone else in the cab who had ugly insides. (All night I had mean folk.) She sounded like Nurse Ratched on meth. She barked around a bit before morphing into the original parrot of self-centered clichés. The little puker's boyfriend hopped out of the cab and threw a monster piss in the snowbank. A cop showed up and we all got lectures. Mine was on how I should ask all passengers if they have urinated before continuing on into the night. The cop summed it up and looked at me as though to say, "Are you going to swallow it or get a ticket?" I swallowed it like a Cushman St. pro. It wore me out, I went home.