Cabbie

This morning we took the 7:57 in from Montclair. It’s the last of the morning rush hour buses and generally rather crowded. Crowded, warm, and, on occasion, stinky. Given that I didn’t get a shower and am wearing clothes I wore to a bar Friday evening, I think I can safely say without fear of successful contradiction that I contributed to the stink. But, I digress.

A 20 minute delay at the tunnel put me in the city exactly at 9 o’clock. Tired and without my morning coffee, I threw myself into a cab and barked my directions “32nd and Park.”

Across 42nd Street, past Grand Central, and onto Park Ave South. I looked up and realized the meter wasn’t running.

“Hey, did you turn the meter on?”

“Ah, no I forgot! Do you take this route often? How much do you think it is?”

“How about if I give you 10 bucks and we call it even?”

“Okay”

And then I laughed. ‘Cause I was in a cab heading south on Park on a sunny April morning with what can only be called a kindred spirit. Lord knows if I were a cabbie I would forget to turn the meter on, too.