Martin Scorsese - Taxi Driver: First Day On The Job lyrics

CUT TO: CREDITS CREDITS appear over scenes from MANHATTAN NIGHTLIFE. The snow has melted, it is spring. A rainy, slick, wet miserable night in Manhattan's theatre district. Cabs and umbrellas are congested everywhere; well-dressed pedestrians are pushing, running, waving down taxis. The high-cla** theatre patrons crowding out of the midtown shows are shocked to find that the same rain that falls on the poor and common is also falling on them. The unremitting SOUNDS of HONKING and SHOUTING play against the dull pitter-patter of rain. The glare of yellow, red and green lights reflects off the pavements and autos. "When it rains, the boss of the city is the taxi driver" - so goes the cabbie's maxim, proven true by this particular night's activity. Only the taxis seem to rise above the situation: They glide effortlessly through the rain and traffic, picking up whom they choose, going where they please. Further uptown, the crowds are neither so frantic nor so glittering. The rain also falls on the street bums and aged poor. Junkies still stand around on rainy street corners, hookers still prowl rainy sidewalks. And the taxis service them too. All through the CREDITS the exterior sounds are muted, as if coming from a distant room or storefront around the corner. The listener is at a safe but privileged distance. After examining various strata of Manhattan nightlife, CAMERA begins to CLOSE IN on one particular taxi, and it is a**umed that this taxi is being driven by TRAVIS BICKLE. END CREDITS CUT TO: Travis's yellow taxi pulls in foreground. On left rear door are lettered the words "Dependable Taxi Service". We are somewhere on the upper fifties on Fifth Ave. The rain has not let up. An ELDERLY WOMAN climbs in the right rear door, crushing her umbrella. Travis waits moment, then pulls away from the curb with a start. Later, we see Travis' taxi speeding down the rain-slicked avenue. The action is periodically accompanied by Travis' narration. He is reading from a haphazard personal diary. TRAVIS (V.O.) (monotone): April 10, 1972. Thank God for the rain which has helped wash the garbage and trash off the sidewalks. TRAVIS' POV of sleazy midtown side street: Bums, hookers, junkies. TRAVIS (V.O.): I'm working a single now, which means stretch-shifts, six to six, sometimes six to eight in the a.m., six days a week. A MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT hails Travis to the curb. TRAVIS (V.O.): It's a hustle, but it keeps me busy. I can take in three to three-fifty a week, more with skims. MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT, now seated in back seat, speaks up: MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT (urgent): Is Kennedy operating, cabbie? Is it grounded? On seat next to TRAVIS is half-eaten cheeseburger and order of french fries. He puts his cigarette down and gulps as he answers: TRAVIS: Why should it be grounded? MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT: Listen - I mean I just saw the needle of the Empire State Building. You can't see it for the fog! TRAVIS: Then it's a good guess it's grounded. MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT: The Empire State in fog means something, don't it? Do you know, or don't you? What is your number, cabbie? TRAVIS: Have you tried the telephone? MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT (hostile, impatient): There isn't time for that. In other words, you don't know. TRAVIS: No. MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT: Well, you should know, damn it, or who else would know? Pull over right here. (points out window) Why don't you stick your goddamn head out of the goddamn window once in a while and find out about the goddamn fog! TRAVIS pulls to the curb. The BUSINESS MAN stuffs a dollar bill into the pay drawer and jumps out of the cab. He turns to hail another taxi. MAN IN BUSINESS SUIT: Taxi! Taxi! Travis writes up his trip card and drives away. It is LATER THAT NIGHT. The rain has turned to drizzle. Travis drives through another section of Manhattan. TRAVIS (V.O.): I work the whole city, up, down, don't make no difference to me - does to some. STREETSIDE: TRAVIS' P.O.V. Black PROSTITUTE wearing white vinyl boots, leopard-skin mini-skirt and blond wig hails taxi. On her arm hangs half-drunk seedy EXECUTIVE TYPE. TRAVIS pulls over. PROSTITUTE and JOHN climb into back seat. TRAVIS checks out the action in rear view mirror. TRAVIS (V.O.)(CONTD): Some won't take spooks - Hell, don't make no difference to me. TRAVIS' taxi drives through Central Park. GRUNTS, GROANS coming from back seat. HOOKER and JOHN going at it in back seat. He's having a hard time and she's probably trying to get him to come off manually. JOHN (O.S.): Oh baby, baby. PROSTITUTE (O.S.) (forceful): Come on. TRAVIS stares blankly ahead.