To the Promised Land, please! / by Humperty Dumperty

I got into a Jesus taxi yesterday that was a sort of miniature cathedral on wheels complete with a choir and incense and a model of the man god himself on the dashboard, his head angled slightly downward as if in adoration of a lamb or the gear stick or something equally infant like. As we bumped and swerved through the avenues and streets of manhattan his spring loaded head wobbled incessantly, his arms outstretched in an authentic 'come to jesus' manner. The strange thing about this was that I felt so relaxed in that rolling place of worship that I even found myself singing along to 'hallelujah' in Latin, rekindling my choir boy days and holding the bark of the outside word at bay for the few minutes it took for me to get my destination, the soho house club. My Haitian driver was called Earnest which is a miracle in itself in that Haitians aren't known for handing out Edwardian names as far as i know but as my mother likes to say "miracles DO happen".