Car 495 -- that driver is not a relaxed man. From the taxi scramble outside Marquee to the 45-minute exodus through the traffic-clogged Lincoln Tunnel, he cursed and muttered under his breath in both broken English and his native language -- whatever it was, because I had no clue. His incessant outbursts of "Stupid!" or "Mother fuck!" or a foreign phrase had me yearning for a driver with GPS, so I could give him my address, turn on my iPod, and go to sleep.