I jumped in a cab this morning, running late as usual, and noticed the hack number was in the high 300 thousands. That means I had gotten an old cab-driver--he'd been driving since the early 80s, and I knew I'd enjoy my ride.
I asked him, as I do, where he was from.
"West Africa, Ghana," he replied.
We had a quick chat about Kwame Nkrumah, the man who led Ghana to independence who was decades before his time. Then we quickly transitioned to the CIA murder of Patrice Lumumba in Congo and how the US's darling, Mobuto Sese Seko, stole $5 billion before we got fed up with him too.
"You know how you survive in America," he asked me.
I admitted I was doing my best, but bid him to go on.
"You say, 'I don't know.' Ronald Reagan when he was President, every answer was I don't know."
"Plausible deniability they call it," I responded.
"Plausible nothing," he shot back. "I had a guy in my car yesterday talking on his phone. Everything was I don't know. I'm lucky he knew his address."
"I think that would work in my job," I answered.
We had reached 50th and 11th. Where there used to be stevedores and longshoremen, now their are art-directors and planners.
I handed him a $20.
"Change," he said.
"I don't know," I said. Laughing as I walked to my desk.