The cab driver is a man from Ghana, perhaps in his late 30s. He has a round, gentle face and dark hair. He asks if I am headed to D.C. I tell him that I am actually on my way to New York. He says, like a lot of men have said to me, that I am very pretty. Very descent, he adds. I thank him. We exchange minor information- where we are from, how long we’ve been here, 18 years for him, nine for me. He is on the phone and I hear him talking about his children; he mentions his daughter. And then I get off and he wishes me a safe trip.