ceciliatan

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

I had a lot of time to think in the cab. We were in traffic for over an hour trying to get to the Upper East Side. I hadn’t known where the hotel was, and neither had the cab driver, and I’d stupidly caught a cab headed downtown, which meant while the driver talked with his dispatcher about where the hotel was we went south for quite a while. Sounded to me like the dispatcher looked it up in the phone book. I hoped we were going the right place.

Nothing like an hour-plus of worrying to undermine a guy’s confidence. By the time we pulled up at the hotel I was about ready to crawl out of my own skin. The fare was outrageously expensive but I didn’t care. I handed the driver a few twenties as the doorman opened the door on the curb side.

He gave me a much more gracious “Welcome to the Carlyle” than I expected to get, given that I was wearing torn jeans and a denim jacket.