Scene: I'm at the corner of 10th Ave. and 34th St. 7:30pm I'm waving my arm at traffic going North, wearing a hand-made dress from Zachary's Smile, Cheap Monday jeans and lipstick (shoes, a purse etc... just remember, I'm dressed modestly).
Cab pulls over, I get in.
Anne: Hi. Greenpoint, please. Take the midtown tunnel to the Pulaski Bridge and turn right on F____ Street.
Cabbie: OK. Greenpoint.
[Pause]
Cabbie: You're coming back here tonight, right?
Anne: (Text-messaging and anyway, oblivious) Yeah maybe... I might stay there.
Cabbie: Uh huh... OK...
[I look up at the rear-view mirror and he's staring at me. I am now wishing I didn't have that conversation with a complete stranger. No one needs to know where I live or spend nights. But. For the record: The only reason I'm not sure where I'm ending up this night is that I crash on said friend's couch after long nights in North Brooklyn all the time.]
Cabbie: Are you going home to Brooklyn or you live in Manhattan is what I'm asking.
Anne: What? I live here. (We're still in Manhattan)
Cabbie: Uh huh... OK...
Fifteen minutes later, approaching F____ St.
Anne: Right here's fine.
[Cab slows down.]
Cabbie: So...business is good?
Anne: ...ye...ah...
This cab driver thought for some God forsaken reason that I was a fucking hooker.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
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1 comment:
It wasn't your clothes. It's, uh...it's just the economy. Yeah, that's it.
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