15600
The second you step into the backseat
you are lower class to the driver's higher class.
It's like a dog must feel when acquiring a new master.
You don't dare remark on his speeding, though you consider it a brazen flaunt.
You rue his gibberish calls to dispatch while you wonder if he knows where he's going.
You wish you were a big ceo or movie mogul.
But you can only sit back and keep a quiet distance.
Then when the meter locks at an ungodly total
you decide to give a bigger tip than you had planned
because the driver is looking at you like he's brandishing a knife.
