Fear and Loathing on the Road to Istanbul

We raced down the highway like a stock car in the Daytona-500. The fiend behind the wheel pressed the accelerator, forcing me back against the seat. Seconds later another drive cut us off, causing the beast to stamp the brakes. We both leaned forward, determined to exit via the windscreen.  
Sweet Jesus, I thought, the evil bastard has my death note. How had forgotten I the sheer terror that comes with taking a taxi in Turkey? Arriving under the spell of love and departing under the influence of raki must have dulled the trauma on my previous visits.
'Where you from?' asked the driver.
'Italy.'

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