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Yea, let us open the text to the Book of Saint Limbo, Chapter 13, verse 8.
Last night I was in a screwed situation.
I was stuck at a Ralph’s in the middle of the night, without my bike, with a full satchel of my usual shit in addition to three bags of groceries.
I was out of change and couldn’t call a cab.
I spotted a Yellow Cab running like a bat out of hell down Sherman Way.
I flag it down, and the fella driving it pulls over rather unwillingly.
Then I get a good look at the guy — taking in the blue turban, the beard, the small ceremonial dagger on a chain around his neck.
Whatthehell? Could it be true? Could moments contain nuggets of immediately useful information?
So I give a polite bow, saying:
Good evening, Mr. Singh! My friend, may I have a ride?”
The cabbie’s face beamed like a spotlight; he helped me load my bags in the back.
Thank you, Limbo.
I owe you one.