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A recorded reading of “Taxi Rank Rumour”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
At Jeppestown the rain slants thin, the plastic ponchos shine; someone swears the fares will jump— “By Friday. Watch the line.” One voice forwards another’s news, a screenshot sent at speed; a neighbour’s cousin’s uncle swears the mayor signed the deed. By Bree the tale picks up its horns, a hashtag finds its rhyme; the aunties weigh, then phone around against the late braai-time. At home the kettle tells the truth— the slow, untheatric boil: some rumours cook on petrol fumes, most sputter, wanting oil.
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