[I talk to taxi drivers. I know most New Yorkers don’t. But I’m curious to hear their stories, their thoughts on our city. Hence this new intermittent reporting series, relaying at least a bit of what I find out.]

The lady got in the back seat, thoroughly sloshed. It was shortly after 4:00 in the morning. They were at the southwest corner of fifty-fourth and eighth.

“Take me to fifty-fourth and eighth,” she slurred.

They went back and forth a few rounds – he explaining they were already there, she (increasingly vehemently) telling him to shut up and do his job.

So he drove across fifty-fourth, turned down Broadway, back onto fifty-third, then up eighth. A perfect one block circle.

Which corner?

“The near right, please,” she replied. Exactly where he’d found her.

She opened the door with some difficulty, leaned back to slip a twenty through the divider.

“Thanks,” she said. “And keep the change.”