Do flies taste like chicken?

Excerpt from my second book, and yes I know I haven't finished editing my first book.

     "Where to my man?" the Jamaican cab driver asks as I climb into the back seat of his cab.
     It's not the cleanest one I've been in, yet surprisingly, not the worse. The interior of the cab has an odd smell to it like a mixture of fish, piss, cheap beer, and vanilla. I said it was an odd smell. There's a red colored stain about the size of a pancake on the middle of the backseat. I wonder if it's blood from a woman who had a baby back here and the Jamaican cab driver heroically delivered the child; or maybe the Jamaican cab driver shot some passenger who had just robbed a bank and was trying to get away from the cops. A real hero. Could be either I guess. "I need to go to Target. I just left all my underwear at the airport," I tell him.
   The man looks at me in his rear view mirror with raised eyebrows. "That's a weird thing to do my man. I mean that part apart leaving the unders at the fly-plane place. Well, Target does have a nice selection on the underwear."