I was a bit late this morning and after walking a bit I was lucky enough to grab a cab. Lucky, because Paris is the worst city I have ever lived in for finding one when you need it. Unlucky, because the driver, a tall handsome Haitian, was the slowest taxi driver I've had in Paris. He slowed to a snail's pace and almost crashed trying to answer his phone (in France it's illegal to talk on a hand-held phone while driving) and then wasted ten minutes going the worst possible way.
He was listening to a gospel station that was singing sloooooow songs in a lullaby manner. After a while I noticed that he was singing under his breath.
"Are you a singer?" I asked him. "Are you in a chorale?"
"Oui," he said, lighting up. "I sing in a gospel choir. I sing bass, and sometimes alto."
Now that he knew I liked music, he beamed and began to sing along to the radio in a full, beautiful voice. "I always sing when I am alone in the cab," he said, beating time on the window where his left hand was resting.
Even though I was late now, I got out of the cab feeling happy.
