EIGHT MILLION STORIES

There are eight million stories in the naked city, and this is one of them.

Picture it, Good Friday, 1995, and I'm heading up to Hartford, CT for the weekend. I hailed a cab at 5th Avenue and 78th (I was living on E. 78th Street, between 5th and Madison back then). 

“Penn Station, please,” I requested as I climbed in. The driver stepped on the gas, and away we went. He asked if I had any plans for the holiday weekend. I replied yes, that I was going up to Connecticut for the weekend, and asked what he had planned. He said he had a couple more hours on his shift and that he was going to stop and pick up some dinner for him and his family.

“I’m picking up some fish because it’s Friday. You don’t eat meat on Friday, and that includes pussy. You don’t eat no pussy on Good Friday.”

Yes, he really did say that, and yes, I really laughed my ass off.

So we turned left from Central Park South onto 7th Avenue, where we found ourselves caught up in the hell that is midtown traffic. So like any good taxi driver, mine starts weaving his way through, all while still chatting me up. 

At some point, another driver cuts us off, and my driver screams “Fuck You” to that driver. My driver then pulls up to the offending driver and begins to engage him in a war of words and middle fingers, all while slowly making our way down 7th Avenue. As the traffic started to clear up, the other guy then flips my driver the bird and takes off. My driver screams “Fuck you, I’m gonna break your muther fucking fingers off and shove ‘em up your ass,” and with that, the race was on.

He stepped on the gas hard, with the sudden force of acceleration throwing me back. My driver went after the the other car with reckless abandon, weaving in and out of the lanes, speeding, screaming expletives, middle fingers flying, and me in the backseat scared, excited, and holding on for dear life. I had only been living in the city I call "My Oz" for a couple of months at this point, and this was TOTALLY feeding into the fantasy of what I thought life in New York City was all about.

My driver eventually lost the other car, but got me to Penn Station rather quickly. As we pulled up, he apologized about the scene, to which I replied “don’t worry about it, that was fucking awesome!” 

I tipped him $5 on a $7 ride and wished him a happy Easter.

There are eight million stories in the naked city, and this was one of them.