Taxi-ing

I waited. At the airport for a taxi. I was told to wait for Conn’s Taxi. Which I expected to be Conn. You know, short for Conn – ecticut. Up drives. Khan’s Taxi. As in the Wrath of. We climbed into the back seat. Plush with leather. I didn’t put my seatbelt on. It reminded me of leaving the airport in underdeveloped countries. No seat belt. Hot. The wind blowing my hair. The ride was blessedly uneventful. And then, when we got to the hotel, the driver popped the lighted taxi sign off the top of the car and threw it in, and what I saw was some family’s luxury car. That was used now and then. As a meterless airport taxi.