Ready, aim, post mail…

Apparently this week we’re all terrorist target #1 (again). So what’s the guess? Sarin gas attack on the subway (I was attacked by a stink bomb late last week and that freaked me out)? Plane into building (I’m now around most of the remaining tall buildings in NYC, but it’s so last month)? Anthrax in my e-mail (that would definitely get me)? Poison in the water (I only generally drink G&T but it could get in the ice)? Wiring N-sync to blow whenever they do a corny dance move (now that is terror)?

In amongst all of this madness I’ve found increasing solace in the calming words of my cab drivers as they ferry me back to Williamsburg. Last night’s philosopher was from French speaking Ghana. Some guy cut him up and I commented “Ils sont foux” and from then on we didn’t stop chatting. Turns out he used to teach Physics back in Ghana but earns more in New York driving cabs. We discoursed on whether French or German were better languages, during which time I find out his elder sister lives in Hamburg and his younger sister in Toulouse. He heartily recommended that I go visit Africa, where, as he put it, the people are so friendly they will take you up a mountain if you ask. Something to combat the general psychic malaise that can prevail in New York. Nice guy.

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