My summary:

John had been sitting in the same place for two hours, still as a corpse, just like the taxi he was driving. His car was a red Dacia Logan and you could tell by its smell that it was brand new. It was John’s pride and joy. He had named it “The Red Fury” and could not stop looking at it, painting a vivid picture in his head of all the urban adventures he would share with Fury. Exactly like a knightly tournament champion riding on his strong and sturdy horse. John sat there, still, about one hundred meters away from the airport exit, near the international flight's gate. He could hear Boeing engines piercing the clouds and would flinched whenever he dozed off. With every whizz of the aircraft engine his hopes would be lifted, his thoughts would flow towards his potential customer and the conversation which would ensue. He would watch the smartly dressed people emerge through the gate and leave in the shinier Taxis. His hopes would crash like a glass into a thousand shards, his mind would be filled with violent images brewing from his anger within.