* 2 Stars
I don’t do so well hailing this one as usual. It’s raining and everyone else that’s still out and awake in the city doesn’t seem as wet and drunk as me. For a little bit, I duck under a scaffolding on 2nd ave. and just wait. The headlights that come at me are blurry and wobbling and I wonder if I’m going to puke in the cab if I ever get it. A yellow car drives by and I step out into the rain with my arm up but it’s a yellow Ford Probe and not a cab at all, then, as I laugh at the misunderstanding, two cabs pass but they’re already full and with fare. The calculations begin: where’s the subway station? How far of a walk? What time will I get home via underground train, it’s running local, 4 AM? Ah shit, I have to leave for work by 5:30. For some reason for a few minutes I’m convinced I’ve lost my cellphone, a cliche drunken 3 AM move, and one that I never made in my prime, but this certainly is an off-night performance. Finding the phone in my inside jacket pocket (amateur!) I decide that 2nd Ave. is a lousy choice, so I walk underneath the scaffolding towards 3rd Ave. A series of overhangs make a good shield as I run from stood to stoop and aim for random trees to use their branches as cover from the storm. My theory, and compared to previous cab hailing theories of my can hailing prime–it’s a weak one, is that any cab I somehow hail will drive me home up the west side highway which is technically 12th ave. So, moving west of 2nd Ave. is a good move. But is it? I’m getting even more soaked. My feet are swimming. Ah! I spot a cab letting out a fare half a block up. I start to run. I basically push the lady in the purple coat getting out of the cab into a puddle, but not on purpose of course. Still, this is a sore spot for this reviewer. I apologize fifty times. She curses and slumps off. She’s drunk. Figures. These people. The cabbie doesn’t want to go uptown as far as I need, but I convince him that I’ll die on the streets and he’ll be responsible for my death and I’ll not only haunt him for the rest of his days. It’s a quick ride. He curses at me in a language I wouldn’t even know sober. The rain gets worse but he’s listening to Miles Davis so that’s nice. I make a note on my hand in blue pen to order the record online. When I get home, I throw my wet clothes on the hardwood floor because I don’t own the floor. I sleep for 1000 years.