In keeping with today's theme that NYC is so boring that we'd rather fall out a window and die than live here, let's reminisce with filmmaker and man about town Greg Allen in today's Gothamist interview:

Q. Please share a personal (and hopefully interesting) NYC taxi story.

A. Summer of 1991 or 92, it's about 1AM on Saturday, and The Posse is in two cabs going across 17th street to Roxy. It's hot, windows are up, A/C is on, and as we cross 9th Avenue, there is a guy with his leg under the rear wheel of a cab. The cab's stopped, and the driver's out of the car, staring at this wailing guy, but doing nothing. It's obvious the guy's screaming at the top of his lungs, but we can't hear a thing. We keep right on rolling at a crosstown pace as people stop and stare from the sidewalks. Roxy used to be a lot of fun. Then you'd go to Florent for breakfast, and Sound Factory at around 4-5.

Greg Allen, Filmmaker [Gothamist]