Is it End of Days? Cabbie and I are prepared to Thelma and Louise off the Brookyn Bridge. The hand holding is optional, right?

Pot holes once meant the joy of catching air in back of school buses. Now they bring beer spilled down cleavage in cabs. What went wrong?

Wanted: a brain, an athlete, a princess and a criminal for 8 hour nostalgic John Hughes cab ride. I have the basket case covered.

Apple's world domination is a ways off. iPhone autocorrects tweets from "in a cab" to "in a can". I'm not ready for that kind of intimacy.

Graduation tassel hanging on rearview mirror is clearly ironic. Cabbie is listening to Glenn Beck on radio. Related: my ears are bleeding.

They exist. And are coming. People who willingly run 26.2 miles are terrifying. But I'd flee Staten Island too. Their zombies are fierce.

Damn. Where's the cabbie with the "welcome home snarky bitch" sign? It's like you don't know me at all, New York.

Wild gesticulation confuses me. Cabbie either just told that hobo to slide into third base or I missed a really unsavory transaction.

Theory comfirmed. Taking babies in cabs is cumbersome. Guess I should get this kid back to his parents. They seemed nice for tourists.

Who needs mailbox baseball when you have pedestrian cab door tackle football? Hipsters carrying teacup puggles are always inbounds.

Dressing room mirrors lie. Ruffled dresses aren’t slimming. Appreciate cabbie turning on A/C for me and "the little one” though.

Mayor nixed my idea for all traffic lights to stay green today. It would've really tested cabbie's proclaimed luck o' the Irish.

So apparantly FF means something entirely different in cabbie lingo. And now I'm taking the subway.

Serious lack of chemistry on that date. Guy hadn’t even seen Star Wars. Escaped via a tuck and roll from the cab. Minivan slide door helped.

Caught bouquet at wedding. Cabbie stopped short and it flew into his lap. Am scared about what that means. And really don't want it back.

Broke tooth as cab slammed into colossal pothole. Should’ve been wary after seeing the unique “stones” on cabbie's necklace.

Approaching cooler weather means I'll no longer see jiggling moobs on cab ride to work. Fellas, jog bras, please look into it.

Sunburns aren't funny. But please continue with the Burning Man jokes, cabbie. That cop over there may like your macramé bong cozy.

Skeletal legs. Towering heels. Emaciated frames. Bad neighborhood to have a open container of Cheetos in your cab. The natives are hungry.

Epic heat doesn't excuse bare moobs. Cabbie and I counted seven this morning. Don't ask about the eighth.