Cabbie, Take Me to the Digital Age

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Landing at JFK this week, I hopped into a spanking clean taxi, courtesy of that nice Mr. Bloomberg, and announced the location of my resting place to a charming driver, Joe, who’s from Brooklyn by way of Bombay.

As the Long Island Expressway sped — OK, crawled — by, I watched NBC on Joe’s seat-back monitor, half-listened in on his mobile phone arguments with his mother and girlfriend, caught up with six hours’ worth of e-mail, appreciated the EZPass that spared me the agony of the usual purgatorial stop before the hell of the Midtown tunnel, and gratefully used my credit card to pay my fare via the cab’s touchscreen terminal.

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