The first time I landed in New York and got a cab to my hotel, I was completely struck by it: a feeling of life and chaos, 24 hours around the clock, just like in London. And whatever your problem is, it's insignificant. You're just a small part of something very big.
Yeah, I'll pay your cab fare home, you can even use my best cologne, just don't be here in the morning when I wake up.
From folk to tribal to Cab Calloway, Cole Porter, Gershwin to the Rolling Stones, whose first record was all covers, to country-western, bebop, blues, and even the referencing in classic hip hop to cliched love ballads of the '80s or whatever - that is kinda gone, and that's just terrifying to me.
I met Jason Donovan at RAK studios. He had jodphurs on and small riding boots as he jumped out of the cab. He looked just like me!
I want to see riots! I want to see the kind of riots where cab drivers are afraid to pick up white people! I want to see this guy!
You know, before I would think, my cab driver hates me. Now I think my limo driver hates me.
L.A. is such a different place. I miss New York so much. I almost teared up when I came back and wanted a Guinness and realized I could drink it and take a cab home. I remembered that I could be a functional alcoholic in New York, like I used to be!
You don't really drive in cabs in L.A. unless you're broke or homeless - or if you're broke and driving the cab.
Moving to Australia was not a career move, but a quality of life issue. It has no guns, no God, and no gangster rap. As an Ethiopian cab driver said to me the other day when I was returning from a gig in Sydney, Australia is a peaceful, democratic place. I like the relatively stress free lifestyle. It's worth the drop in income.
It's weird - the cab driver is playing very loud dance music and yet it doesn't really feel like a party.
And so I continue in borderline poverty, save for my one indulgence, no, my single absolute necessity: I take cabs. Yes, on occasion, when I wish to see what people with unpleasant skin conditions are wearing, I do take the subway. I have never, I am proud to say, taken the bus, because people who take the bus have given up.
Objectively, class differences in accent, dress, manners, and general style of life are very much smaller; and one cannot, strolling about the street or travelling on a train, instantly identify a person's social background as one can in England. Subjectively, social relations are more natural and egalitarian, and less marked by deference, submissiveness, or snobbery, as one quickly discovers from the cab-driver, the barman, the air-hostess and the drug-store assistant.
I never really drove a cab, but I do have a hack license in case of emergencies - like no money.
When you're in Los Angeles, everybody you meet is writing a movie, and they want you to be in it. Every cab driver is writing a movie!
My name is not Mara Dyer, but my lawyer told me I had to choose something. A pseudonym. A nom de plume, for all of us studying for the SATs. I know that having a fake name is strange, but trust me-it's the most normal thing about my life right now. Even telling you this much probably isn't smart. But without my big mouth, no one would know that a seventeen-year-old who likes Death Cab for Cutie was responsible for the murders. No one would know that somewhere out there is a B student with a body count. And it's important that you know, so you're not next.
Now this is over thirty years later and the guy said he was that cab driver. He apologized and he was serious. I felt awful. He might have been spending his whole life thinking he had jinxed me, but I told him he hadn't. My number was up.
I leaned on him for support when I got out of the cab, and he just crumpled to the ground. That's how we found out.
I never met a Cab I didn't like.
In New York City, a lot of people think "the great outdoors" is the area between your front door and a taxi cab.
Anyway, a spokesman for Barack Obama says the prisoners that are released from Guantanamo will either be sent back to their home countries or enter the New York City cab driver training program.
When there's not ten feet of snow on the ground I ride my bike down the streets of New York, and I literally hear two things out of car windows as cabs pass by me: They either yell, "Hey, dummy," or "Hey, Mayhem."
My first job was with an auto plant, Kansas City - they treated you like slaves. From there I went back to Chicago, worked in steel mills, drove a cab, stuff like that.
Being a cab river is not unlike being a magician--minus the top hat, the cape, the rabbit, an the gorgeous assistant. But you do have an audience.
The Park Avenue of poodles and polished brass; it is cab country, tip-town, glassville, a window-washer's paradise.
The irrational may be attractive in the abstract, but not in cab drives, dinner guests, or elderly relatives.
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