On Saturday, as I stepped off a BOLT bus in the City of Brotherly Love, a middle-aged brown man approached me as if he had something important to say. He moved closer and in a soft-spoken voice, he uttered, “taxi?”

I relaxed, realizing that he was simply peddling rides not street pharmaceuticals.

Famished, I accepted his offer while following him to the bronze-colored mini-van parked across the street. “Are you a real taxi?” I asked with
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