Words on the street

Yesterday while I was finishing up my move, I treated myself to a cab ride (I accomplished most of the move via subway). The driver, a jolly African man with a thick, thick accent, took a call about halfway to my new place.

As he talked, another cab veered into our lane, coming within inches of the car. Mid-sentence, my cab driver stuck his arm out the window, gestured and said, "Why don't you eat my c*ck?" But he didn't say it rudely. It sounded like a friendly suggestion, like "Why don't you come in for a cup of coffee?" or "Why don't we go grab a sandwich?"

In other news, I ordered a futon today and looked into buying an AC and a mattress for the sleeping loft. I'm not sure if you were aware of this, but outfitting an apartment in Manhattan is fracking expensive. It physically pains me to part with this much money, but I suppose this is the life I've chosen. Besides, Ramen noodles are kinda tasty.