Every time I get into a cab, I am given a sermon by the driver about the wrongness of women looking like men, and why don’t I cover up my head, seeing as I don’t have hair anyway? But when I leave the car, having paid less than a dollar for a half-hour ride, I’m confused about my right to offense, just as I’m confused about drinking as an act of resistance. There is something entitled about it. Yes, there is something rich.
