So where I last left off, the cabbie had pretty much called himself an idiot. The rest of the story happened as follows:
"You guys go to shows, right? Music shows, yeah?" he asked, as he bombs forward down the dawn streets of Brooklyn. "Yeah," we mumble. "You guys seen some good shows?"
"Sure," we say. I can't remember a single show I've ever seen. My brain is reduced to nothing; simple math maybe. But there is no honest way I can have a conversation with this man, no way it's going to happen with my benefactor, and no way I can tell him. So, he just goes on.
"Best show I ever saw was Woodstock '94. So get this... you know Rollins? Henry Rollins; the Rollins Band? You know he's intense, right? Well, he's out there in the tattoos and all that, and it's raining, man. And he plays this intense show. And then guess who comes on next? Crosby, Stills and Nash! Can you believe that? Crosby, Stills and Nash following up the Rollins
Band? And you know what - the rain stopped. Serious." He stops briefly. Two intersections fly by and the sound the car makes in the wind is a loud whoosh and whistle.
"Who do you guys think is the biggest asshole in rock'n'roll?" He's back on the offense. Why is this happening right now? We don't even answer. "Lars, right? ...From Metallica." I take one for the team. "Yeah, I've heard that," I say.
"That's what everyone says, man. But not me. I saw him in this little coffee shop at about four in the morning, right? This is a couple of years ago, and he's just sitting there. So I go over to him and I say 'I don't want to bother you, man, but I got to thank you for that set at Woodstock '94.' And you know what? He was cool, man... He was real cool. You know who's a dick, man? Lou Reed. No one says anything good about him, man. Nobody. You ever heard anything good about him?"
"I guess not, but he's like Mr. Brooklyn, isn't he?"
"I don't know, but no one says anything good about him, man," he says again.
"You can let us out right here," instructs my benefactor. "This is close enough..."
