Because I take a shared car to and from work, I sit in the front seat whenever it is available. It means I don't have to scoot over when someone else needs to get in or get out.
This morning, I got the front seat of the new car of choice for New York's ride shares--a Mercedes Metris, which comfortably sits eight, and I'm told gets close to 20 miles per gallon--doubly the mpgs attained by the once pre-eminent Chevy Suburban.
We headed south on East End Avenue, and before we merged onto the FDR Drive, I felt a gentle tapping on my left thigh.
"Excuse me," the driver said. "What is that music you're listening to?"
I figured it was too loud, even through my headphones.
"Eh, some jazz," I mumbled.
He handed me an adaptor. "Do you mind if I listen to it, too," he asked. "That's pretty smooth."
I put on "Watermelon Man" by Quincey Jones on his sound system.
"Do you know Booker T and the MGs," I asked. I shuffled and found the song.
"George," as I shook his hand.
The cops had for whatever reason blocked all West bound traffic at 7th Avenue and we drove down to 39th Street looking for an opening. Finally, I got out of the cab at 37th Street and hoofed it to work.
Listening to a little Tiny Grimes on the mile in.
BTW, the Times tells me a man set off a bomb at the subway station at 8th Avenue and 42nd Street this morning. The reason for the nuttiness of my commute and the reason I was able to share so many tunes with my driver, Abdul.