Travis

The Lyft driver is named Travis. He says he has it all figured out. He’s 22.

“I graduated with a journalism degree,” he explains. “But then I was like: fuck journalism. Because people can’t accept the fact that quality news means you have to pay for it, so journalism is dead.”

“So what’s the plan now?”

“Hollywood,” Travis says. “That’s why I moved here from Kansas.”

“Well, you’re not in Kansas anymore,” I say.

He laughs and compliments me on the Swingers reference, but he doesn’t seem to know that Swingers was referencing The Wizard of Oz, which is a strange detail to miss because Mike and Trent met up with a “Dorothy” after the blackjack fiasco. Whatever.

“So you want to be an actor?”

“No way, man. Do I look like an actor?”

“What’s an actor look like?”

“Chris Hemsworth.”

“Good answer.”

“I want to direct,” Travis says.

“Big blockbuster movies?”

“That’d be cool, but studios are basically dead. It’s all DIY stuff.”

“So you got an idea for a movie?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s about a Lyft driver who isn’t quite right in the head and he just drives around getting angry at shit, and then eventually he just explodes and shoots someone.”

“I think I’ve seen that movie, Travis. It’s called Taxi Driver.”

“Man, like I told you, it’s about a Lyft driver, because taxis are dead.”

“Just like journalism.”

“Exactly.”

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