Come by here, my Lord, come by here....Oh Lord, come by here.
When you live in New York City, you pretty much expect the unexpected when you sit down in a taxi. In fact, they've built a whole TV show on this very premise. It's called "Taxicab Confessions." People share their deepest, darkest secrets with a cab driver they hope they'll never see again. You don't know what's gonna unfold when you crawl inside. You just need to be ready.
On November 9th, the day after the presidential election, I sat down in a cab and I've got to tell you: I was shellshocked ... like nearly every American, however they voted. The driver Mauricio asked how I was doing and, at first, I couldn't even find the words. And then I couldn't stop. I was scared at the forces of hatred America had now unleashed. I was sad, as a black woman, to see Obama's legacy so gleefully reversed. And I was disappointed at just how deep the fault lines separating us run.
Mauricio listened. He nodded, like a good confessor