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Story #69:
The taxi driver

I was on the way back from a business lunch at Sal Anthony’s Restaurant near Irving Place and 14th Street.

As a grizzled New Yorker, I knew the fastest way back to my office at Dag Hammarskjold Plaza near the United Nations was to hail a cab and head northbound on First Avenue.

At first blush, it was my lucky day. No sooner had I raised my hand than a shiny yellow cab driven by a clean-shaven guy with a bowtie pulled up next to me. Next surprise, he was courteous, and spoke perfect English (please forgive the politically-incorrect descriptor; that’s the racist in me).

Before long, the conversation went from small talk to Vietnam. It turned out he was a vet who had driven tanks through the forests. He also clearly suffered from PTSD (Post Traumatic Syndrome). I tried to keep him clam as he drove, but there were Gooks hiding in the bushes on every street corner, and lots of other weird stuff.

To learn more about my cab ride to hell, you might want to check out my latest book, a memorable collection of short stories, ONLY IN NEW YORK. 36 True Big Apple Stories Spanning 55 Years and Five Boroughs.

DATE: Jan.02.2019 | CATEGORY: My Books