After listening to my burly cab driver carry on about the Phillies’ need for a new manager for the past half hour—during which I placated his bloodlust by explaining that we’re only one month into the sixth-month baseball season—we reach Ronni’s apartment in Northeast Philly. Suffice it to say, after navigating through the initial wave of rush hour traffic in a driving rainstorm, I could have rented a car for the same price as the fare.
I pull the cash out of my pocket and count up the fare. I wish I still had my credit card. Since I’ll soon assume a new life as Kevin Stewart, I could really go buck wild. The creditors would never find me.
Before I finish counting the cash, the driver—his name is Joe—grabs my attention with a whistle. “Who’s that?”
I look up and see Ronni bounding out of her apartment and into the parking lot. She, like the real me, is wearing a hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants. I’m still in disguise as Hipster Boy.
“Easy, big guy. That’s my girl, Ronni.”
“Now I see why you had me drive all the way up here.”
“Pretty much.”
“You ever, you know, hooked up with an Asian chick before?”
“No.”
“Neither have I,” Joe says with a chuckle. “I wanted to know if I was missing out.”
I roll my eyes. Meanwhile, Ronni climbs into her Civic and turns the ignition.
“Uh-oh,” Joe says. “You want me to follow her?”
“Yes. Please. If you don’t mind.”
“Nope.”
Ronni backs out of her parking spot, turns on to the street and starts driving away at a slow pace.
The cab driver follows suit. “Was she expecting you?”
“No, but I expected her to be home. She told me she was sick.”
Joe shrugs. “Maybe she’s just going to the drugstore.”