Sometimes New York Can Make Me Smile

In this city where I drudge to and fro to work, home, work, home, cat shelter, work, home, class, work, cat shelter, home, bar, home, bar, with a semi-permanent frown adorning my face, I sometimes find myself with a shit-eating grin thanks to a random act of kindness or a surprising interaction. Like tonight. My cab driver kicked ass.

On the subject of political parties and who to vote for in the upcoming election he said:
"It doesn't matter who the candidates are. They're all the same. One's a douche and one's a bag. You see? This is why I don't vote."

On the subject of the renovation of 42nd Street, he said:
" Back in the day, you would go to 42nd Street if you wanted anything illegal. And I mean ANYTHING illegal."
 So I asked, "They pushed it all somewhere though, right? I mean, where'd it go?"
To which he responded, "The internet."

We bonded over our love for Brooklyn. How you can get everything you want there and how it kicks so much more ass than Manhattan.

He put a big smile on my face. So I gave him a nice fat tip. I love moments like that.