Taxi cabs can be lonely places. Solitude on wheels. A curious throne with the world on the other side of your windows, and strangers staring down the back of your neck. Conversations are half-hearted at best, and eye contact, that most human of exchanges relegated to chance glances in a smudged rear view mirror. Money passed gingerly between driver and passenger is the only true constant. Albeit a potentially dangerous constant. At least it was for Harry Owens...