Al and I were standing over on Franklin Street; it was pouring buckets and we wanted to get over to the North End to grab a bite to eat.
I hailed a cab. The driver, speaking with an Indian accent, stopped me from getting in (remember, it was raining) and asked me first where I wanted to go. When I told him the North End, he pointed straight ahead to Tremont Street and said it's right up there and drove away.
Maybe it was better we didn't have him for a driver. (Note to non-Bostonians, the North End is in the other direction and would have been a nice faire for the driver.)
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