I Go to a Car Service

I get in the black car.

The driver exits the corner bodega, cigarette in hand. He gets in.

"You're smoking?" I say. "I'll smoke too then!"

"Ah!" he says, turning around with a grin. "I like you!"

He starts the music. He turns it up. It's funk-ish, jazz-ish, with fantastic Quincy Jones interludes. His name is David. He is from "Cairo, Egypt."

We fly toward the Manhattan Bridge.

"My hair is going everywhere!" I shout above the music, the wind.

"Your hair goes everywhere like a wild horse! So beautiful!"

Ha ha ha! I laugh and laugh. I smoke. The music floats around the car and the city skyline rears up ahead of us.

"Your hair! Your hair is like a beautiful hair in the air!" he says.

Ha ha ha! I laugh.

Ha ha ha!

Ha ha ha!

"I've seen you in the neighborhood," he says.

Ha ha ha!

Ha ha oh!

Oh.