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Dear New York Gypsy Cab* Driver,

Who the hell are you talking to on the phone? You’ve been chattering nonstop for the last half-hour. I don’t think I’ve even seen you breathe, much less allow the person supposedly on the other end of the line to speak.

Who is your carrier, and what crazy rate plan are you on? I know you’re not swimming in cash or you wouldn’t be driving a Towncar that looks like it ended its career as an extra on a Dukes of Hazzard episode.

So, I’m moving to New York, land of hotdog vendors, sidewalk hippies, Wall Street sharks, and enough starving artists to fill Rhode Island.

Now, since I switched blogs, nobody reads this one, but I’ll still shout out for commentary from the imaginary hordes of New York readers out there to send me some comments giving me advice (or, even better, telling me how to find a damned apartment).

Consider yourselves shouted out to.