"Taxi! Taxi!"
A yellow cab detached itself from traffic and pulled to the curb. "Where too, miss?" asked the driver.
"Baker Street. 221B." She climbed in, and he angled back into traffic, swearing at the mini cooper behind him. "Why are you dressed as a fireman?" she asked.
"Halloween, miss. I love this holiday." He glanced at the traffic light turning yellow and gunned through the intersection. She smiled. She liked Halloween too. Especially skittles. The cabbie twisted his handlebar mustache. "You're in pajamas yourself."
"I .. what?" She looked down, and yes, she was in pajamas! Silk! "What?!? Why am ... o this is a dream isn't it?" She looked about in alarm.
"You tell me, miss. That billboard there, what's it say?"
"'Costa Cola -- Because It's You!'"
"Yes? Is that Costa with a C or a K?"
"C"
"You're sure?"
"Still C. 'Costa Cola, Because It's You!'"
"Your dreams have that much permanence? You can read in them? Dammit!" The traffic in front of him had stopped. He leaned on his horn.
She stared at the billboard. Costa Cola. Not a dream? But why silk pajamas? They were HER silk pajamas, at least. With the little pink elephants. The air smelled a bit acrid, like burning rubber. Glancing up, yes, a haze of smoke drifted over the road. Traffic started again, and the driver turned down Pennsylvania. He adjusted his firefighting hat.
OK, this isn't a dream, she thought, biting her lip. But this doesn't seem real either. What is going on? It's a puzzle of some sort? "I'm in my pajamas. I don't even have my purse. Silk pajamas and no purse." Alarm. "How am I going to pay you?" she asked.
"What?!" said the cabbie, turning around to stare at her. "How come you're hailing a cab with no cash?" He pulled to the side in the 600 block. There was a burning dumpster on the sidewalk. "Nobody gets a ride unless they pay their way. Who do you think you are?"
"Me?" she asked, thinking. She didn't even remember her own name! When had she last talked to anyone? This was all symbolic of something. A mystery. To be solved. Reality .. symbolism. A story? She was IN A STORY???
"Out," he said, "Now." The fireman got out opened her door. She got out. He bowed to her, then closed her door. She was a character in a story. And not a very good one. Incoherent, and probably pretty short. It seemed to be coming to an end.
"Wait!" she said. "Talk to me more! Do anything! If this story ends, that's the end of me! And you too! I don't want to die!!!"
"Not my problem," said the cabbie, and he pulled away back into traffic, driving down the street lined with dumpster fires, his fireman's axe hanging out the window.
This was in response to a prompt on reddit.com r/WritingPrompts, "You're looking for a taxi. Eventually, you come across a cab and decided to get in, but the driver's dressed as a firefighter"