Manehattan
Interview with a Cab Driver
Admiral Biscuit
“Spuds” Terkel—stuck with that moniker from the moment a pair of potatoes appeared on his fat flank—took one quick look around his Manehattan hotel room, pushed his glasses up on his muzzle, and turned into the hallway. He gave the bellhop a curt nod, and headed down the corridor.
Checking out was a brief formality, and by the time he'd handed over his bits and room key, the bellhop had already loaded his bags into the waiting cab.
Spuds passed him and the doorpony a bit coin each, stepped into the cab, and stretched out luxuriously on the upholstered seat. Without even looking up, he shouted “train station,” and put his head down. He was completely exhausted—the weekend meet-and-greet had been laid on at the last minute, his train to Manehattan had been late getting in, and the reception the night before had run far too long. He'd only had a few hours of sleep before he had to get ready for a charity breakfast, and that hadn't left him enough time to pack.
Breakfast and his stomach had finally made an uneasy truce, at least, so there was that small blessing.
He yawned and was about to close his eyes—figuring that if he drifted off, the cabby would wake him when they got to the train station, when his head jerked back up.
How did I not notice when I got in the cab? He mentally reviewed his journey out of the hotel lobby—he'd looked the bellhop in the eye, passed him a bit, looked the doorpony in the eye and passed him a bit—but he’d not looked at the cabby. Not directly, anyway. His mind had already been on the train, riding back home, waiting for his body to catch up.
“You're losing your touch, Spuds,” he told himself, and sat upright in the seat. He reached back into his saddlebags and nosed through until he found a pencil and his journal—thank heavens he kept those with him at all times. Then he whistled to get the cabby’s attention.
“What's your name, son?”
One of the cabby's ears flicked back. “Golden Agate.”
“Pleased to meet you. I'm Spuds Terkel.” His voice was as smooth as any Shakesponian actor, honed by years of storytelling—but they weren’t his stories; they were the stories of the common ponies. It was they who made Equestria great, yet were never in the news unless he put them there.
“You're a crystal pony.” It was not a question or an accusation, but a simple statement of fact. Golden Agate had heard the topic brought up in every way conceivable so far—he thought—but Spuds made it sound like an honor to have been born such.
“I am,” he said proudly.
“Why Manehattan?” Spuds ducked back to his journal.
“Well.” Golden Agate considered this. “You're going to think I'm a foal.”
“No I won't.” He said this with the same certainty he would use to give his own name, or state the name of the ruler of Equestria.
“Because . . . because of King Sombra. In case he comes back.” The cabby fell silent for a moment. Spuds didn't say anything.
“I just got to thinking after the Equestria Games—maybe if we'd let other ponies who weren't crystal ponies into our Kingdom before, maybe they would have done something. But we were told that the three tribes were always fighting and we were better off without them.
“Nopony acted like that during the games, and I wondered if—if maybe it wasn't true, so I came to Manehattan.”
Spuds waited.
“Maybe if they see us, they'll remember us, if we need them again.”
“Were you always a cab driver? Back in the Crystal Empire?”
“No—up in the Crystal Kingdom, I grew berries. I brought some seeds with me, but they don't grow well here. I don't know why.” He sighed. “I miss crystal berry jam.”
“How about your family?”
“They're still up there. Mom said I was a foal to leave. She said nopony here would like me, because I was different than them.
“My oldest sister works in the Palace. I write her postcards sometimes. She says she shows them to my little sister. I want—“ Golden Agate stopped speaking.
“Go ahead," Terkel prompted.
“Nothing.” His ears turned back forward. Spuds waited politely as they navigated another busy intersection. He took the time to circle Golden Agate's cut-off sentence. There was something there, but he'd have to tease it out. Change the subject, try for a different attack.
“Do you like it here? In Manehattan?”
“It's not bad.” Golden Agate turned his head back for a moment to regard Spuds. “There are a lot of ponies, more than I can believe . . . and the buildings all look kind of the same. They're big, but they seem . . . colder than a crystal home. It took a while to get used to pegasi, to having to look up for ponies.
“But there are so many neat gadgets—clever little machines we never had nor dreamed of. I bought a record player and some records with my first paycheck, and if I had more bits. . . .”
“How long have you been here?”
“Almost two years.” He sighed. “There aren't many crystal ponies here, but I've met a few. One of them sells Crystalberry Gin to a local public house, can you imagine? When he saw me, he gave me a free bottle.”
“Where do you live?”
“I have a third-floor walkup on the north side of the city. It's awfully crowded. I share it with two other cabbies and my marefriend. I don't know what we'll do once the foal is born.”
Spuds leaned forward. This was an interesting tidbit—was it what he'd almost said earlier? “Foal?”
“It . . . it was kind of an accident, but we're really happy. The doctor's curious, because he hasn't seen any journal articles about what kind of foal it might be.”
“Because your marefriend isn't a crystal pony.”
“She's a unicorn. Works in the typing pool at Silver Barrel.”
“Are you happy?”
“I guess?” The cab jerked to a stop, and Golden Agate began looking from side-to-side, waiting for a break in the traffic. “I mean, I’m happy that we’re having a foal, but I’m not sure what it’s going to look like, and I’m not sure what I’ll tell my sisters about it, or how her family will react. They don’t know . . . they haven’t met me. She’s told them I’m busy all the time—and I am!—but they’ll know when they see our foal. I hope she isn’t crystally. It would be easier that way—easier for us, and easier for her.” He spotted a break in the traffic and trotted across the intersection.
“Well, here we are.” The cabbie announced as he pulled into the line of carriages in front of the train station. A porter dashed over to the cab and put out a step for Spuds, before opening the trunk on the back of the wagon and transferring his luggage to a cart. “It's four bits seven.”
Spuds stuffed his writing materials back in his bag and got out of the cab. He gave the cabbie a ten bit coin. “It's been a pleasure riding with you, Golden Agate.”
*************
Spuds leaned back on the couch in his compartment. All his exhaustion from before had completely faded away, and as the train pulled out of the station, he leaned over his journal and began to write.
Today, I met one of the most interesting stallions in Manehattan. He isn't the Mayor, or the head of a company, but a common pony just like you or I, working an invisible job in a big city, the kind of stallion you could look at and forget from one breath to the next perhaps. He is a cab driver, and this is his story.