Taxi

A young man of about seventeen gets into the car and demands to take him to a nightclub. He’s wearing jeans and an oversize sweatshirt. - Are you in such a hurry? - Back off. - Why are you being rude? - I said back off! - I’m just curious. Maybe you have family problems. - It’s okay. Yes. - What’s wrong? - Parents are alcoholics. Classic. - Do you drink, too? - I have to. - Are you forced to? - My father,” he grinned sadly, “introduced me to some shady characters. They know where I live and they force me. - I’m sorry. - And my parents are waiting for me at home. - You don’t have a choice. - Uh-huh. - Are you scared? - I’ve been living like this for three years. Since I was fourteen, my father got me into it. - You haven’t tried to report it to the police? - Nobody believes me. When parents are sober, they’re quite normal and can leave a good impression. And I know what they’re really like. - Do you have any relatives? - No. I have nowhere to go. Azrael makes a sharp U-turn and drives in the opposite direction. - What’s up? - There’s a traffic jam, we’re gonna be stuck here for about an hour, so I’m gonna go around. - Oh, okay. Ten minutes later, they stop at a club. The guy gets out, recovers and hesitantly walks inside on wobbly legs.