MAY 24, 2007
1977 and I'm in the back of a cab going down Broadway and It's hot as hell. Back then there wasn't AC in a lot of cabs and it could feel like an oven.
My driver was only a few years older than me, he's not wearing a shirt and sweating and cursing every other vehicle with a thick Bronx accent.
He offers me one of his cans of Budweiser. We've got the radio blasting, we're drinking hot beer and he goes flying through a red light almost running over ten people in the crosswalk.
One of the pedestrians spit on the cab and my driver gets out and he's cursing, waving his can of beer around and about to kill the guy who spit. Then I see he's only wearing his underpants and high-tops. Nobody wants to get in a fight with a drunk, hot, sweaty guy in his tighty whiteys.
He should get a Speedo.
He got back in and drove off before the cops came.