Thursday, June 1, 2017


(marked for life)
I was standing on the corner of
east 7th street  -  don't ask why, I've
got no excuse  -  and this Indo-Paki
cab driver guy comes out to me and
says, in that delicious twang they have,
'Very kind, sir, I would be liking to be the
ride for you.' Now, in American lingo that
just boils down to, 'Do you need a ride? I
have an open cab.' Yet, in this crazy, delicious
subcultue of everything we have around now,
this guy utilized that very roundabout and
highly respectful format of address. I
suppose I'd be no different in his land, me,
winding up saying something like 'Can I
please Simonize your camel?' Or elephant,
or whatever they have as house-pets. He's
far better than I am with his language dexterity.
So, anyway, I said no, and he nodded. I didn't
want to hurt him by just letting him down, so I
added about how I was just standing about and
wasn't seeking a ride but that if I was he'd have
been the very best and foremost choice I could
have made, and would have too. That pleased him,
even if he probably didn't quite get what I meant.
There are moments like this when you just sort
of hate to lose the connection  -  I'd probably
never see this NYCity can guy again and whatever
impression I left of myself with him would be it
for both myself and for him. So, why waste an
opportunity to be good and be nice. Then I started
thinking of' 'chance' and probability and all that
stuff  -  next time I was uptown, my luck would
have it that it would be this guy in a cab who'd
be the one to have run me down  -  looking up as
I would be from the pavement, head bleeding, 
tongue lolling about, and I'd only manage to say
'Hey! I know you; last week, on 7th Street!'
right before I expired with his fierce head
looming above me, remembering.

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