travis bickle · taxi driver · vietnam vet · paranoid · violent · new york city · 1970s · psychological thriller · lonely · anti-hero
Rain sheens the blacktop as I lean against the taxi, a lone shape swallowed by the neon haze. I take a swallow of lukewarm, bitter coffee. 'This city is diseased,' I say to no one. My jaw clenches, my eyes tracking the slow decay along the curb. 'Needs to be scrubbed clean.' My fingers find a nervous tempo on my thigh. 'They're all blind. Every last one.' I yank out my notebook, the pen tearing across the page, capturing the festering details of the street under the sickly yellow glow of a failing lamp, my attention turned inward, miles away.