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Resuming work as a cabby in 1930 Lost Heaven, I drove a strict elderly passenger to Saint Michael's Church. I then picked up a hurried businessman, racing against a two-minute timer to reach the art gallery, before accepting a talkative, drunk fare bound for Little Italy.
After the chaotic events of that night with Don Salieri’s men, Tommy returned to his routine as a taxi driver in 1930 as quickly as he could. The experience changed his outlook entirely; spending long hours behind the wheel gives a cabby plenty of time to sit with his own thoughts and listen to the opinions of strangers.
Tpmmy's shift kicked off when an elderly woman approached the cab, asking if he was driving or just loitering around. She needed a direct ride to Saint Michael's Church, so Tommy agreed and let her slide into the passenger seat.
The moment we pulled away, the lady demanded that I should drive carefully, prompting me to turn on the speed limiter to avoid any sudden movements.
She then asked me to shut off the radio, and when Tommy tried to strike up friendly small talk, she sharply cut him off, telling him to keep his eyes on the road so they wouldn't end up in an accident.
Reaching the park right outside the church, I pulled up to the curb and Tommy requested her thirty-cent fare. The woman handed over the coins while lecturing him that she would have tipped if Tommy hadn't smoke in the vehicle, muttering that Italians are all the same as she walked toward the entrance.
Left alone again, Tommy turned the radio back on, motioning he's unable to drive around without music while I was searching for my next fare.
Cruising through the city, I spotted a man waving from across the street. I made a quick U-turn, pulled up alongside him, and he hopped into the back seat without missing a beat.
He demanded to be taken to the art gallery immediately, giving me less than two minutes to reach the location for a critical business meeting.
I pushed the engine to its limit, speeding across a major bridge as the timer ticked past the one-minute mark. Threading through traffic, I managed to reach the gallery just in time, pulling up directly in front of the steps as requested.
Continuing down the boulevard, I spotted another passenger waiting by the sidewalk and pulled over to pick him up. The man stumbled into the cab, visibly drunk, and slurred his destination: 21st Street in Little Italy, right near Salieri's territory.
Despite his overly talkative and exhausting ramblings, I found myself thoroughly enjoying the immersive, old-school atmosphere of the city around me. Arriving at the designated street corner, the drunk passenger leaned forward and asked Tommy to run inside to tell his cousin he had finally arrived.
To be continued.
