I know, cyberspace goes on forever. Actually, we're bottom feeders in the food chain of traffic. You could call this a rehearsal for survival in hell, but as long as auto mechanics make twice as much as writers, it's not likely to be different in my lifetime. It's the kind of job you can't quit until you get even, but you never do. It ruins you for offices.
Cabbies are simultaneously invisible and mythical.
Today, after only a ten- minute wait outside the exclusive Mark Hopkins where there is exactly one spot for cabs to sit, a family emerges and we're off to the airport. My passegers are a vacationing attorney and two dentists. After the weather, we're out of conversation gambits. But these New Yorkers win the prize for courtesy. We pull up to their airline.