Beau Brooklyn Breaks it Down

I took a cab from my house to Williamsburg on Friday to do a photo shoot for a swank mens clothier that my friends were shooting for their website. I did NOT want to go, nor did I have time. But...I had agreed to and though I tried to wriggle out, they had committed to this designer that they would have hair there and I couldnt leave them in the lurch. Integrity! Out out damned spot! As usual though, New York's richest rewards come when you least expect them. I got into the cab (which the photo guys used to bribe me to come so it wouldnt take my whole day just getting to and fro) and was pleasantly suprised to find an older american gentleman the likes of whom rarely drive cabs these days. An original brooklynite named Beau, who technically had no idea how to get where we were going but said "well just drive in dat gen'rl die'reckshn" and went to the corner of Grand and Morgan like a homing pidgeon in a race. The ride was short and sweet, but Beau managed to bestow apon me some real kernels of brooklyn wisdom before we parted company. First of all, he was amused and delighted to see that there was a huge smokestack by the side of the BQE that was being dismantled, but brick by brick. There were a few guys inside just throwing one brick at a time over the edge, shrinking the stack ring by ring. He swore that the damn thing was ten stories higher yesterday. It definitely looked like its days as a landmark were numbered with each brick that flew haphazardly out of the top. I couldnt help wondering what kind of safety device they had set up to save passers by from being brained by falling bricks.
As we passed an amazing device that was noiselessly shifting the heavy concrete lane dividers from one side of one lane to the other to allow traffic to start flowing in more lanes going our direction, Beau was overcome with the anxious excitement of an inventor!
"Now deres a pah'ent! Deres a pah'ent! Dis baarier mover, look at dat ting. See? It moves dat baarier from here to there like dat! Dey move on dose swivels between. Incredible. Das a helluva patent. Another incredble pa'ent? In de ol'days to rip up de streets you 'ad a guy wit a jack'ammer like dis (incredible impersonation of jackhammering man) now dey got dese machines what shake de top level loose an den de back paht goes undeh the loosend layeh, scoops it right up and den trows it into a truck dat goes drivin right behien da damn ting. Now das a pa'ent."
As we wended our way through the serpentine and reasonless one way streets of brooklyn he started to revel in his own language, which I was thrilled by. He was inspired by his reaction to my friend Henry's directions to get off the BQE at exit 34, when the exits went from 33 to 35. "Who is this guy? Is he a may-oh-ree (maori, Henry is from New Zealand) I ought trow 'im a beatin! Ha! Trow! Das a great brooklyn sayin'! Deres tree great Bruklin sayins. Numba one; Its outta my'yands! Outta my'yands! Ha! Numba two; Don' make me come back der! If I yave to come back dere, ill trow you a beatin, which of coas is numba tree. You really gotta be from Brooklyn to delivah dese tings properly." At this point we pulled up to my destination. He not only turned onto my street off the arterial, which many cab drivers dont do, but u turned to put me on the right side. We tried to figure out how he could pick me up later but I didnt know how long I would be and his home base was by my house. He warned me that calling the local service would "put me in a whol' new situation wit a whol new et'nicity." I couldnt have him waiting around. I wished him well, and that I would see him again. I gave him 25 bucks, five more than the car service had quoted me (doesnt everyone tip cabbies?) " Now thas a classy lady. What did you say your name was? Vivi? Ha! I could wake up to dat!"