Pheenix

I am taxi driver or something. I think there are three of us that are friends and as such sort of driving in line with a little space in between. The two other guys stop at like a café somewhere. I go back to find them. One of their cars gets stolen, but I, we, take it rather lightly. When we leave the café, the narrator is an author of a popular thriller saga, announcing that his little campaign has concluded, where people could recommend alternate ways in which to gruesomely yet effectively kill someone, and that he now knows a way that is “stupidly effective”.