I turn the key, and Mr. Lif comes from the speakers as I maneuver into traffic.
"What's this fucking nigger music?" the guy yells, "you some kind of fucking nigger or something?"
"OK man, trip's over." I pull back to the side of the road.
The guy's incredulous and refuses to get out. I tell him that while I understand that he's drunk and injured, I'm refusing him service.
"Damn straight I'm drunk! That's why I called a fucking cab!"
"Then behave yourself with the next guy."
His face reddens as his body language grows more animated. The crutches are wedged so that he can't use them, and I figure that if he swings with a fist he'll miss or graze me. If it happens, my best choice is to just get out of the cab and have the cops deal with him—I don't want to be seen fighting a disabled man, and it's not like he can chase me.
I unbuckle my seat belt and take the key out of the ignition, actions he seems to take as a threat. He yells at me as he gets out, and I've already pulled away before he can finish swinging a crutch at where the trunk was.