All the Animals Come Out at Night

I taped my phone to the dash of a taxi recently, while cruising for fares on Bleecker Street in southern Manhattan - a street known for it's bars and such.  Instead of listening to the annoying rattle of the embattled meter in the car, I overlayed some soundtrack from the movie Taxi Driver, as well as the psycho babble from Travis Bickle, ending with just the silence of tires rolling (kid safe - relevant "c" words are not audible):

Video below the Bickle quotes.

All the animals come out at night - whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets. I go all over. I take people to the Bronx, Brooklyn, I take 'em to Harlem. I don't care. Don't make no difference to me. It does to some. Some won't even take spooks. Don't make no difference to me.

Each night when I return the cab to the garage, I have to clean the cum off the back seat. Some nights, I clean off the blood.

Twelve hours of work and I still can't sleep. Damn. Days go on and on. They don't end.

All my life needed was a sense of someplace to go. I don't believe that one should devote his life to morbid self-attention, I believe that one should become a person like other people.

Loneliness has followed me my whole life. Everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There's no escape. I'm God's lonely man.  

June 8th. My life has taken another turn again. The days can go on with regularity over and over, one day indistinguishable from the next. A long continuous chain. Then suddenly, there is a change.

June twenty-ninth. I gotta get in shape now. Too much sitting has ruined my body. Too much abuse has gone on for too long. From now on there will be 50 pushups each morning, 50 pullups. There will be no more pills, no more bad food, no more destroyers of my body. From now on will be total organization. Every muscle must be tight.

The idea had been growing in my brain for some time: TRUE force. All the king's men cannot put it back together again.

You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? Then who the hell else are you talking... you talking to me? Well I'm the only one here. Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? Oh yeah? OK.

Listen, you fuckers, you screwheads. Here is a man who would not take it anymore. A man who stood up against the scum, the cunts, the dogs, the filth, the shit. Here is a man who stood up.

Now I see this clearly. My whole life is pointed in one direction. There never has been a choice for me.