Yom Kippur is pretty much the holiest day of the year for the Jews. You spend 24 hours fasting and atoning for your sins, and if you're like me, you've got a lot of sinning to atone for. I can't even begin to count the cheeseburgers I ate and goys I hooked up with. Anyway, as the metaphor goes, on Yom Kippur God decides whether or not he will inscribe your name in the book of life. That is to say, he decides whether or not you'll live another year. After spending 2 1/2 hours in synogogue atoning for my sins and seriously contemplating the meaning of my life, I emerged from the temple feeling renewed and optimistic. It's a euphoric feeling to be totally free of sin. But, hey, this is New York, and this city likes to shit all over anything good and pure. So I walk about a block from the temple, and as I'm crossing 3rd Ave. some cabbie, who apparently thinks my walking in the crosswalk was a crime against humanity, turns onto 3rd and slowly rolls his taxi behind me with every step I take, coming within an inch of me. I turn around, give him the death stare and flip him the bird. Damn! Well, it was nice to be without sin for five minutes.
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