The difference between a good cabbie and a great cabbie

... is perks, of course. The other night I was returning to Brooklyn in what some might refer to as an inebriated state. I like to think I was not visibly so, but one never really knows. So I flag a cab on Bowery, we hang a right on Houston, and I sink back into the faux leather seats to reminisce over that last drink in that last bar and all the bars and drinks before it. Suddenly, I hear a voice and see a hand pop through the open window between passenger and driver. "Hey, you want a cheeseburger?" the voice asks. There before me is a rather tasty looking wrapped McDonald's hamburger. Now, I'm not a McDonalds eater, but exceptions get made at 3:30 in the morning, and that night was a definite exception. So I protest (faintly) and soon I have my lips wrapped around a hot burger. "Now that was nice," I think to myself. About halfway through the burger, I hear another little "psssssst" and look up from my half-finished burger to see a bag full of fries. "Take a handful," the disembodied voice continues. My protesting remains faint, and soon I have a fistful of crisp fries stuffed in my fingers. As we crossed the Brooklyn bridge, I popped the last bit of caloric goodness into my mouth and thought pleasant thoughts about my extremely enterprising cabbie who has just earned himself a very nice tip.