Cabbies
This morning, as I got into a cab, the driver said, "Good morning. Where are we off to today? If you would like a copy of The New York Post, you're welcome to take this one. I've already absorbed all the information that a curiosity-seeker could possibly desire." He then proceeded to tell me, in very descriptive words, that Manhattan was going to be crowded today, because of the Gay Pride Parade, and how as a student, he used to go out of the laboratory to watch the parade of "exuberant, fun, sprightly" people. It reminded me of another interesting cabby who brought us home from Grand Central a few months back. My cousin was carrying a guitar, and when he asked about it, we told him we were a travelling band, that all of us in the family played instruments, and that we had just come from a gig. Of course, it was all an outrageous lie. And so he tells us that he likes country music, and can we sing "Home on the Range" for him? No brave soul would, and so he said, "All right, maybe you don't know that song. It goes like this." And then he proceeded to sing with a rich voice that filled the tiny cab. It turns out he was an opera singer, and had been to the Philippines as a guest of Imelda Marcos. I tell you, there is nothing like driving across the Brooklyn Bridge at night with a cabby singing songs from "Carmen".
{Eleven to Your Seven, Hey Mercedes}
This morning, as I got into a cab, the driver said, "Good morning. Where are we off to today? If you would like a copy of The New York Post, you're welcome to take this one. I've already absorbed all the information that a curiosity-seeker could possibly desire." He then proceeded to tell me, in very descriptive words, that Manhattan was going to be crowded today, because of the Gay Pride Parade, and how as a student, he used to go out of the laboratory to watch the parade of "exuberant, fun, sprightly" people. It reminded me of another interesting cabby who brought us home from Grand Central a few months back. My cousin was carrying a guitar, and when he asked about it, we told him we were a travelling band, that all of us in the family played instruments, and that we had just come from a gig. Of course, it was all an outrageous lie. And so he tells us that he likes country music, and can we sing "Home on the Range" for him? No brave soul would, and so he said, "All right, maybe you don't know that song. It goes like this." And then he proceeded to sing with a rich voice that filled the tiny cab. It turns out he was an opera singer, and had been to the Philippines as a guest of Imelda Marcos. I tell you, there is nothing like driving across the Brooklyn Bridge at night with a cabby singing songs from "Carmen".
{Eleven to Your Seven, Hey Mercedes}
