Pursue the taxi,
waving your fist
in a futile but perhaps cathartic gesture.
Offer to
help
the stranger.
Run in the
opposite direction
to the taxi and abandon the man.
The injured man is looking around, anxiously, like he's lost something.
Once you're safely inside and the driver has activated the central locking, he asks you where you want to go. The moment the name of the hotel passes your lips, he zooms off down a series of narrow, one-way streets, weaving in and out of parked vehicles and lamp posts like he was lining up to destroy the Death Star.
Struggling as you are to do up your seatbelt before the laws of physics find some excuse to project you through the windscreen, you join the driver in not noticing until too late that a shadowy figure is limping across the road right in front of you.
SCREECH! On go the brakes!
THUD! Over goes the shadowy figure.
CLICK! Off goes the central locking.
You clamber out and help the stranger up. He's hurt, but from a nasty knife wound to his leg rather than from the impact of the collision.
"He's fine," states the driver, matter-of-factly, as he slams your door shut and puts his foot down on the accelerator.
You can:
Pursue the taxi,
waving your fist
in a futile but perhaps cathartic gesture.
Offer to
help
the stranger.
Run in the
opposite direction
to the taxi and abandon the man.
The injured man is looking around, anxiously, like he's lost something.