It had been a slow night but I wanted to hit my target of $100 in fares for the shift. I was at a cabstand outside of one of the big downtown hotels, hoping for a late trip to the airport, or something like that to put me over the top. Vicky, the crusty old dispatcher, got on the radio and asked who was first up on that particular stand. “Car 92” I replied. “Go over to the Commodore Nightclub, 92”. “Who am I looking for Vicky?” I asked. “Oh, I think you’ll recognize him, it’s for Mr. King”. A few seconds later, I slid to a stop in front of the club, tires smoking. I hopped out, and from out of the shadows walked a familiar silhouette, carrying a guitar case. I quickly popped the trunk open and went over to greet the great B.B. King. “Hello Mr. King”, let me get that for you”, gesturing to the guitar case. He looked at me askance and said “Better be careful with that son!” “Don’t worry Mr. King, Lucille is safe with me” I replied, and carefully placed one of the most famous guitars in the world into the trunk. It was just a short ride to the hotel he was staying at and over far too quickly. He was tired and I could tell he wasn’t in the mood for chitchat so I didn’t pester him. I tried to think of some way to tell him about Cannonball and their song Crazy ‘Bout a Blues Guitar and how I should ask him for a transfusion but I just couldn’t come up with the right words. Instead I pulled up to the hotel, got the door for Mr. King and delivered Lucille back to him. I simply said something like “It was an honour to drive you Mr. King” and went to wait for my next fare.