Cabbie

“Get the fuck out of my cab!” the bicycle cabbie yells, but the man at whom he’s yelling does not budge. Now the whole park is watching, all of us on the sunny late spring lawn, under blue skies and rustling green canopy peering up from our picnics or books or phones to watch the drama, which has now escalated to the bike cabbie shaking the cab and shouting curse words.

But in a few moments the man has quieted down, and now the two of them are speaking earnestly for a while, then embracing, and the bike cabbie gets on his bike, the passenger at whom he was screaming only seconds ago still in the cab, and rides off. The park collectively sighs, goes back to what it was doing, and the day proceeds as if nothing at all had happened.