Car 63 tonight is the bald guy with a deep voice who's always got music on. It's usually a fast-paced instrumental jazz or Joe Satriani-type of rock. He drives fast and has a Yankee cap on the back shelf, but I can overlook that because he's nice, clean, courteous, easy to hear and a fast driver. Likes to talk baseball, too. He'll keep quiet if I'm not into talking, but I don't mind chatting with him the more I ride with him. He even noticed as I jotted these words in my Moleskin and told me to "help myself" to the light above my door. I told him there was no need, however, because the Lincoln Tunnel provides enough light and, aside from idling at traffic lights, the only smooth portion of the ride home during which writing is conducive.