The winter night I moved to New York, I sat in the back of a cab, two bulging suitcases stuffed into the boot by the driver who rolled his eyes at my excess. When I told him that I was moving here, though, he lit up.
“Today?” he asked, “You’re moving here today?” I nodded, jittery and wild eyed. I was sick with nerves and the lunatic sensation of a thing I had dreamed of in vague cinematic terms for my whole life actually taking place. Now he was pleased, the taxi driver. Now he had something he needed to say.
