'I know I'll regret it…' His hands are shaking. 'But I'm asking a favour.' One motion too far and the ink smears. He ignores it and touches pen to paper once more, but pauses a second later, steeling himself as he tenses to keep his seat. The world seems to be spinning around him, and even the paper isn't much of a still point any more.
Sighing in exasperation, he pushes the paper against the glass, rapping sharply in a vain hope to attract attention. Surprisingly, he earns an offward glance.
Encouraged by the contact, he scribbles frantically, only barely noticing that at one point the pen had slipped and left a blue mark on his trouser leg. His blue eyes glint determinedly in the half-dark, and his teeth are set, not gritted. As he finishes his work, an affirming noise slips from his mouth, neither a shout of joy nor a weary sigh.
It is in vain. If the first notice was shrugged off, the second is not even acknowledged. His eyes narrow, and his composure slips at last. His interpretive summation of the note is colourful, yes, but it does get a New York cabbie to slow down…