Johnny Liddell yanked irritably on his coat collar, drew it closer to his face to stave off the cold drizzle that had replaced the big-flaked, wet snow that had been coming down since early morning. The slush was almost up to his ankles, his feet were wet and cold, and it seemed every cab driver in New York had suddenly gone deaf and blind. He took a deep drag on the soggy cigarette he held cupped in his hand and delivered a colorful diatribe against New York, its people and especially its cab drivers.
There were other ways to get downtown, but he preferred to get soaked to the skin waiting for a cab rather than risk certain maiming in the subway at an hour when almost every building in mid-Manhattan was vomiting thousands of workers out its doors to be siphoned into the subway entrances.
