Today, I board the van when a 20-ish woman who looks like she would be part of Vinnie's family on Jersey Shore runs to the stop. Nick (whose name might be Saul) slides the side door open while Leon at shotgun asks her if she wants a ride.
Her eyes open as if she's using a public bathroom and a man approaches her with a buck knife.
"We're going to Port Authority. It's cheaper than the bus," Leon says.
Her face is steady and stern.
"NO," she says, really meaning it.
We pull away and Leon chuckles.
"I guess I look threatening," he says. (He doesn't -- he's an attorney in his 50s who has a stately, gentlemanly demeanor.)
Charlie laughs, too.
"You look like a dirty old man."
"That's right, Charlie. That's right."
We're on Rt. 3 by Hoboken. Traffic is at a standstill. The driver ahead of us doesn't inch up when traffic does slowly move because he's too busy texting.
Charlie leans on the horn and the man moves forward. He then goes back to texting, and once again doesn't drive in tune with traffic.
After the third time Charlie leans on the horn, the driver ahead of us turns and points at us, snarling and screaming.
However, he stops texting and actually drives.
"He's being good now," Charlie says.
"I think you trained him," I say.
"You can't train these people," says Leon.