Manhattan cabs are born old.

The reality of what we really are is often times found in the small snips, way down at the bottom of things.

I've met them down in the Cost and Accounting Department, clean-shaven and in white collars. They can't see a damn thing ridiculous about themselves... only about you.

Manhattan cabs are born old.

I had woven a tapestry of obscenity that as far as I know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan.

In all my years of New York cab riding I have yet to find the colorful, philosophical cabdriver that keeps popping up on the late movies.

There are fewer things more thrilling in life than lumpy letters. That rattle.