Our cab driver started crying on the way to the hotel. "You two look happy. Married?" Annie and I were in back going back and forth about whether or not we could eat dinner at Medieval Times a restaurant in Jersey where you drink beer and watch people joust. Annie's boss is a real estate developer who, upon hearing that we could not have air conditioning in our apartment, put us up in a hotel he developed near Giant's stadium in Jersey.

"You gotta cherish eachother. Cherish every moment you spend together," he said in a hoarse voice. "The woman I've been married to for thirty-seven years just told me she doesn't love me anymore. But I had a complete mental breakdown over it last week. I mean, what am I supposed to do?" I watched the New Jersey Turnpike ahead of us and realized that I might die.

"Maybe you just need some perspective," I said as Annie gripped my hand and begged me to shut up. But since Annie demanded that we eat in the hotel bar again (draft beers: Coors Light, Bud Light, Amstel Light; bottled beers: Coors Light, Miller Light, Amstel Light) instead of watching Jersey people joust, I wasn't going to give in. "We took a break once. It was good for us because it gave us a chance to start again on purpose rather than just trot along each day."

Annie's fingernails dug into my wrist as he kept talking. "...She says I've needed therapy for 37 years, but I wasn't ready to look into it. I guess I was just in a mode. I didn't take her for granted, but I didn't cherish her. Now I want to change, but I don't know if she'll have me back..." He was working up a big, cathartic lather, going on about how he supported her this whole time, how he used to be a restaurant manager in the city. How her grew up in Greenpoint and then moved to Jersey when he wanted to start a family. Two streams of unwiped tears rained down his jowls.

When we first got in the cab I was excited. He seemed like the kind of old-school NY cab driver that I remember from when I was a kid. Street tough, sarcastic, knowledgable white guys, who sailed around the city shit-talking the mayor at the worthless cops. Nowadays we have overworked Nigerian Cardiologists who are working on their english.

"I told her that if she wants out then she has to get out. Stop living in my house, stop driving my car, and go live the wild single life that you're looking for," he kept eye contact with us in the rear-view as dozens of trucks almost made this story a tragedy. "I hope to god she comes back to me. We're expecting our first grandchild anytime now."

He pulled up to the hotel and slowly inched up to the door as he finished his sad story. By now his tears had started soaking the collared polo shirt that his wife no doubt bought him years ago. We awkardly stepped out of the car and gave him a large tip. He deserves it even if he's lying.

"Wait!" he said when we got out. "If you two ever want to get out of the city and head over to Medieval Times, here's my card."