Chapter 61

           Ourmanwastheretomeetus,GaryBenson.Healsowrotepoetryanddroveacab.Hewasveryfatbutatleasthedidn’tlooklikeapoet,hedidn’tlookNorthBeachorEastVillageorlikeanEnglishteacher,andthathelpedbecauseitwasveryhotinNewYorkthatday,nearly110degrees.Wegotthebaggageandgotintohiscar,nothiscab,andheexplainedtouswhyitwasalmostuselesstoownacarinNewYorkCity.That’swhythereweresomanycabs.Hegotusoutoftheairportandhestarteddrivingandtalking,andthedriversofNewYorkCitywerejustlikeNewYorkCity-nobodygaveaninchoradamn.Therewasnocompassionorcourtesy:fenderjammedagainstfender,theydroveon.Iunderstoodit:anybodywhogaveaninchwouldcauseatrafficjam,adisturbance,amurder.Trafficflowedendlesslyliketurdsinasewer.Itwasmarveloustosee,andnoneofthedriverswereangry,theyweresimplyresignedtothefacts.

           ButGarydidliketotalkshop."Ifit’sO.K.withyouI’dliketotapeyouforaradioshow,I’dliketodoaninterview."

           "Allright,Gary,let’ssaytomorrowafterthereading."

           "I’mgoingtotakeyoutoseethepoetrycoordinatornow.Hehaseverythingorganized.He’llshowyouwhereyou’restayingandsoforth.HisnameisMarshallBenchlyanddon’ttellhimItoldyoubutIhatehisguts."

           WedrovealongandthenwesawMarshallBenchlystandinginfrontofabrownstone.Therewasnoparking.HeleapedinthecarandGarydroveoff

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