#yellow taxicabs

[taxi-davis]

#taxicabs #the wiz #diana ross #micheal jackson #richard pryor #joel schumacher #nipsey russell #ted ross #lena horne #rob cohen #quincy jones #taxi #car #cars #yellow taxis

[rabbitcruiser]

The first cabs of the New York City Taxicab Company, imported from France, began running in the city streets on May 31, 1907.  

#I really love the first pic #street scene #architecture #cityscape #Manhattan #New York City #summer 2018 #2019 #original photography #travel #vacation #first cabs #New York City Taxicab Company #yellow cab #taxi #car #traffic #31 May 1907 #115th anniversary #US history #engineering #daylight #night shot #dusk #6th Avenue #Broadway #7th Avenue #Flatiron Building #Macy's #Times Square

[weehughie]

NYC throwback… • • #nyc #newyork #newyorkcity #manhattan #yellowcab #nyctaxi #taxi #taxicab #yellow #yellowtaxi #timessquare #throwback #blur #blurred #blurredlines #bokeh #blurry #moving #vibrant #night #nightphotography #nighttime #nikon #d80 #nikond80 #nikkor #retro (at Times Square, New York City) https://www.instagram.com/p/ChkdDiTo1oT/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#nyc #newyork #newyorkcity #manhattan #yellowcab #nyctaxi #taxi #taxicab #yellow #yellowtaxi #timessquare #throwback #blur #blurred #blurredlines #bokeh #blurry #moving #vibrant #night #nightphotography #nighttime #nikon #d80 #nikond80 #nikkor #retro

[mosqitofood]

#taxi #nyc #biking #getting somewhere #where to go #on a bike #hail taxi #taxicab #yellow cab #street #bike land #bike lane #green road

[hellcab]

Hellcab NPC – The Wire

The Wire was an unidentified serial killer who operated around New York State, during the 1970s and early 1980s. In total, The Wire murdered eight ( nine ) people, most being either homeless, disabled or pensioners.  The preferred method of killing was with violin strings, wrapped tightly around the next. Naturally, The Media sensationalized the murders. The Wire even communicated in letters, pontificating his philosophy of efficiency, that society is burdened with “useless people”.

Despite the combined efforts of the NYPD, New York State Police and the FBI, The Wire was never caught or identified. The real identity of The Wire was Thomas Fitzgerald, a former violinist with the New York Philharmonic. Despite his crimes, Thomas considered himself “perfectly sane”. He suffered no horror, no abusive childhood in the shadow of neglectful parents. Thomas was born to wealth and privilege. He lacked the “emptiness” and derangement of Ted Bundy or Elmer Wayne. The justification of his murders was ego, the belief of his own superiority over less fortunate people.

In the end, it was about proving himself.

Thomas would have gone on killing, had it not been for that Yellow Taxicab running him over, during one cold February morning in 1982. Thomas survived, but without the use of his body. He was paralyzed completely, a prisoner of his mangled body. He became the very thing he despised so much.

Thomas died in 2024, his funeral was attended by some family and few friends. To this date, nobody knew that he was The Wire.

In Heaven on trial, Sera and the council found Thomas guilty of his crimes. Afterwards, Thomas was sent on his way to Hell. He expected this much, taking his damnation with stride. Yet, despite being damned, his body was renewed. Reconstituted.

Walking again, Thomas soon returned to his old habits. He started targeting the lowest members of Hell’s society, that being Imps. His crimes went unreported, unnoticed by society at large. This actually annoyed The Wire, who wanted the attention the media gave him when he was alive. So, he moved up the food chain, targeting succubi and sinners.

The Wire will go on killing. With each kill, he grows in power.

#Hellcab NPC. #The Wire Killer.

[cacchieressa]

Sleep Positions

This is how we sleep: On our backs, with pillows covering our chests, heavy as dirt On our sides, like wistful spoons Clenched, knees in-tucked, arms folded Wide, like sprawling-rooted lotuses

In Iowa on top of pictures of Hawaii, huge white flowers on blue In New York on black satin In China on straw.

This is how our dreams arrive: As hot yellow taxicabs; As sudden blazing steam, we who have been pots on a stove, looking only at our own lids; As uninvited insects, all at once on our tongues.

O hairdresser, auditor, hardknuckled puller of crabtraps, you who think poetry was school, you who believe you never had a flying thought, lie down.

--Lola Haskins

#poetry #national poetry month

[longeyelashedtragedy]

We tramped through the empty house, which had the comforting smell of lace and vintage furniture, and burst through the front door, discarding my suitcase by the stairs.  The smell of ocean and rain, salt and palm fronds hit me full in the face, and I sensed a raging power close by, the kind of unbridled force that only the ocean could ever have.  He pulled on his navy blue sweatshirt and we sat on the porch step.  He buried his head in my nest of curly hair. “Okay, so tell me about everything,” I said.  “Well, see that blinking light over there?” “Mmhmm?” “That’s Balboa Pier.  We’re going to go there tomorrow.  We’ll go to Ruby’s, we can sit outside.” “What’s Ruby’s?” “Oh, it’s a diner.  Their ice cream and milkshakes are awesome.  All right, so there’s the road we were on earlier…” My mind began to wander and I looked up at the sky, where Cassiopeia’s W was lit up by something more supernatural than neon.  I was used to watching my own eastern seaboard constellations: office building windows lit up with people working late, taxicabs blurring by like yellow streaks in the orange night.  Out there on the western edge of our country, despite the natural light from the sky, I saw dark.  Dark roaring beaches where I would climb rocks in my black boots, the dark hulking shapes of piers where we would eat ice cream and milkshakes, the darkness out in the distance that stretched all the way to Australia, Japan, Indonesia.  Dark where we had been.  Dark where tomorrow we would drive willingly.  The light from the house was nothing but a fuzz, a yellow flicker behind me.  I thought again of his hand reaching out to take away that one hour, and for the second time that evening, I felt something like fear. 

#i wrote a lot about my college relationship while i was in it and everything was so ominous lol #but everything also seemed very Important #i wrote this in poem form once too #it was weird to watch daylight savings time happen in front of me

[skullbuilt]

who wants to hear about my mech oc. too bad. her name is taxicab geometry, her mech is bright yellow and designed around movement, named the Manhattan Distance

#🌹.log #if she needs a separate callsign i usually go with rickshaw

[mawofthemagnetar]

Pilot AU: Some Thoughts On Livery

Livery! What is it? It's a bunch of stuff, but none of that other stuff is relevant. Specifically for this discussion, it refers to the paint scheme of an airline. It has a bunch of other meanings too- for instance, New York's famous yellow taxicabs have a yellow livery- but, yeah. not relevant.

We're talking planes, motherfucker.

So! How have I been imagining Hermit World Airline's livery?

Hermit World Airlines is a fairly transparent ripoff of the famed Trans World Airlines, and as such, I've been taking inspiration from TWA's liveries of old, albeit reimagined in blue, and with a smiling allay:

(This is actually a 767, by the way. I'd imagine the red stripe to be blue, and the globe to be where the allay would go. Instead of TWA on the tail, there'd be HWA, that kind of thing.)

Another possibility:

Except, obviously, in blue, and with HERMIT WORLD and HWA written instead, respectively.

So, uh, there you have it! Just some general thoughts on livery.

Enjoy?

#Magnetar rambles #Pilot AU

[bey0nd-1he-stars]

Regulus Black - A morning in New York

Masterlist

AN: I didn't write it for Regulus in the first place so it's a bit OOC!Reg and it's a modern AU so things are a bit changed up, but I hope you enjoy it either way!

Pairing: Modern!Regulus Black x reader

Warning: mentions of depression kinda

Word count: 1296

Summary: Regulus can't sleep and goes out to Central Park where he meets a young lady with a camera.

The city of New York stood tall around him where he sat in Central Park. The skyscrapers of glass reflected the sun and made the leaves on the trees look like they were glowing. It was early in the morning but after trying, without any success, to sleep, he decided to take a walk in the early hour and enjoy the silence of the city. Not that New York was ever quiet and calm. The lights were on around the clock and the neon-signs sharp lights casted colored lights on the streets. The taxicabs were always driving around and the ones who’d been out all night at clubs and whatnot started to get home by now. Central Park is almost empty where he is though. His only company being the leaves that are falling from the trees and making their way to the ground.

But despite the autumn’s every color and New York’s neon signs and street lights, the world felt gray and boring. Lifeless almost. And empty. It was like everything in his life went in a grayscale. Like when you shut the lights off at autumn nights and it’s too dark to see colors but it’s light enough to see the furniture. That feeling followed him wherever he went. The feeling of loneliness and emptiness. All motivation and inspiration ran out of him, his energy ran out after doing the smallest little thing, and everything he wanted to do was lie in bed under the warm duvets and just close his eyes and forget reality. But at the same time it itched in his fingers to be productive, to create something. But the piano at home stood quiet and collected dust and the guitar hung on the wall, a place it barely never got to before he wanted to use it again.

A soft wind went through the air and pulled softly at his dark hair. More leaves from the tree he sat under fell down over him. One landed in his lap and with careful gestures he lifted it up and twisted it gently between his fingertips before letting it fall to the ground beside himself. He watched as it fell to the ground with a handful of other orange-yellow leafs.

When he looked up again he was met by the sight of a camera lens pointed towards him. It could as well have been the elegant tree he sat under or something behind or beside him, but the gaze he met when she looked up told him that it was just him that she’d wanted to capture. He didn’t mind it at all, he did aesthetic things himself and photography was a pure and elegant form of art. He liked it, but he was far from good at photography himself. He kept to the music and the songwriting. Videography occasionally, but that you could edit endlessly. It wasn’t quite the same thing.

“Is it alright if you’re in the picture?” The clear voice pulled him back to reality. The girl in front of him was wearing a knitted jumper and had the brown curls in a messy bun. A few curls hung loose and framed her face and the gold-brown eyes shined in the sun like gems. She sat on her knees before him, camera in one hand, a smile on her lips.

“Sure,” he answered after a while,”but I can’t promise that I look very good.” He gave her a shrug and a small smile that didn’t really reach his eyes. When he’d gone to Central Park he hadn’t really thought that he’d end up being a photo model. Her gaze swept over him as she came closer and sat down in front of him on the leaf covered ground. His dark hair wasn’t brushed and it twisted softly in curls that farmed his face. The dark glasses rested on the bridge of his nose and the metal details glistened in the sun and the light reflected in his blue-grey eyes. His dark jeans jacket was a good contrast against the colorful autumn leaves on the ground and in the air; and to his white converse. She tilted her head slightly when she looked at him and a gentle smile playing at her lips when she met his gaze again. She softly shook her head at his previous statement, “stop it,” her voice was soft. “You look great. You’re elegant. And you fit beautifully into the autumn aesthetic,” she nodded at his outfit to convince him further. He looked down at his hands he had in his lap, fidgeting with his rings, not really knowing what to answer her. No one really gave him compliments, especially not people he didn’t know.

“Thanks, I guess,” he smiled but didn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t feel very elegant and the leaves probably add up a lot to the autumn aesthetic,” he placed his gaze on a point just a bit to her left, not really comfortable with meeting her gaze. In the corner of his eyes he saw her raise the camera again and the clicking sound confirmed that she was indeed taking photos of him again. The thought of it, that she wanted to photograph him, made him look down again, a smile on his lips. His hair fell down in his eyes and in the soft breeze it got in his face. When he looked up again she held out the camera to him. The pictures she’d taken were on the display and with careful gestures he took it  from her hands. Her soft hands brushed his when she gave it to him.

The pictures she’d taken were the complete opposite of how he was feeling. They were beautiful, filled with colors and the leaves danced in the background. He smiled. The creativity flooded through the pictures, no one was alike the other. She made the world look so much more beautiful than it was, and the pictures were proof. He lightly shook his head in disbelief, “they’re fantastic. You make the world look so beautiful.” She smiled widely at the compliment and then she looked down at her hands, blushing slightly. When she looked up and met his gaze, her eyes seemed to shine.

“Thank you, I had an excellent model,” she laughed. “Do you want them?” She nodded towards the camera he still held in his hand, “the pictures, I mean.” He sat quiet for a while, went through the photos again, just as amazed as the first time. Then he nodded.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” he smiled softly and gave her back the camera. She shut it off, hung it over her shoulder and smiled at him. “I wouldn’t have asked if it were,” her laugh was melodic and  easy. The tones were clear and it flowed with the wind and made his heart skip a beat. She stood up and then held out a hand to help him back up on his feet. At her touch the world seemed to explode in colors, like someone had thrown paint at the canvas without any regard of what color ended up where. It was explosive and the colors were intense. Like he’d never seen the world in color before in his life.

She continued to hold his hand as she dragged him with her through Central Park. He didn’t know if she acknowledged her action but he didn’t complain. She’d pulled him up above the surface, anchored him in a new, colorful world where reality sanded around him and made his heart change rhythm. The feeling was refreshing and filled him with a warmth as warm as the autumn leaves' golden colors. And he would hold onto that feeling for as long as he could.

#regulus black x reader #regulus black #the marauders #marauders era #regulus black x female reader #regulus black x you #wizarding world

[taxi-davis]

#cab graveyard #cars #abandoned #abandoned cars #taxicabs #taxis #yellow taxi #oddcore #weirdcore #strangecore

[cupofvilatte]

taxicab

i’m a happy yellow little taxicab and i drive people places a chauffeur, if you want to be fancy. a carpool without a destination.

and we all want to go somewhere but i don’t have anywhere to be suddenly i’m at work and at the market at all these places pleasing people.

~~ vilatte

#poetry #poem #poet #poets on tumblr #spilled poetry #poetic #original poetry #original poem

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue May 1967 ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

One of the great young beauties, Candice Bergen…American to the life, soaring in the movies her next film, 20th Century-Fox's "The Day the Fish Came Out" a girl on the go. Going vivid in a quick little dress of taxicab-yellow linen. (Dress repeated, left, on a mannequin, showing the bare, square back, the high, drawstring-tied waist.) By B.H.Wragge.Sunny yellow earrings by Mimi di N. Candice's coiffure, by Carita.

Photo Bert Stern

vogue archive

#us vogue #vogue cover #may 1967 #candice bergen #20th centery fox #bert stern #carita #b.h.wragge #mimi di n #sixties #fashion 60s #the day the fish came out #yellow minidress #yellow style

[ao3feed-joenicky]

by sharkie335

Everyone has told Booker that his car is a terrible color. It seems to prove their point when a strange man gets in at a train station, frantic for them to go.

Words: 13232, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Nile Freeman, Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Original Male Character(s)

Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, The team are going to get Nicky out of the situation he's in, even if they don't know him yet, they're still heroes you know, Not all heroes wear capes, DV is committed by original character, Only a brief description of DV, Stalking behavior, Nightmares, Joe goes to comfort Nicky, things happen, oral things, Blow Jobs, brief use of a gun, then comes more sex, this time anal sex, Anal Sex, safe sex, condom use, Happy Ending

#the old guard #joe x nicky #yusuf x nicolo #immortal husbands

[yourslovinglyaritri]

Maybe I'm not very good at understanding love, after all. But I do know that I love the way the sun diffuses rays of yellow, orange, pink, across the skyline as it sinks. I love the way the rain pitter patters over the pavement and splashes against taxicabs as they go uptown, downtown, and back again. I love the way the city makes me feel young and foolish, yet old and wise at the same time. I love the calm of a cool seaside breeze, I love quiet moments where I find a sense of peace.

Maybe I'm not very good at understanding love, after all. But I do know I love the way you laugh, I love the way you make me feel like I am not so strange; I love that you accept things I always wanted to change. I love your jagged imperfections and I love your 3 AM thoughts. I love your dreams and I love your demons; I love the way you talk, I love your spark.

Maybe I'm not very good at understanding love, after all. But I do know that I love your light as much as I love your dark; I love everything, everything, everything that makes you who you are.

- Kirsten Robinson

[100yearoldcomics]

August 6, 1922 Abie by Harry Hershfield

In which Abe becomes that kind of liberal. You know, the kind who'll find themselves in an unfamiliar situation, immediately assume the worst of the people there and call the cops at the slightest sense of fear. Don't be Abe.

TOP PANEL [ID: Abe happily leads a savagely-beaten tough guy in a striped sweater and checkered cap into his fern-strewn living room. /end] Red: Is dis de joint you live in? Abe: Yes, Red. I want you to meet the folks!

MAIN COMIC [ID: Abe stands in front of a vanity cabinet, fastening the tie of his tuxedo. /end] Abe [thinking]: Fine, fine. It's positivel nice of Sigmund to lend me his dress suit to go to that affair in Ginsberg's hall.

[ID: Abe sprints through a rainstorm towards the entrance of Bill's Restaurant. /end] Abe [thinking]: Oy, it's commencing to rain. I mustn't ruin Sigmund's suit! I'll stend under here till it's over!!!

[ID: Inside Bill's restaurant, two tough-looking men sit at the diner counter, glumly eating soup. The cook stands with his back to us, working on something next to a carafe of coffee. Signs on the wall behind the men read, "Gravy and Bread 10¢," "Cup of Coffee 5¢, Thin Cup 10¢" and "No Mistakes Rectified After Leaving." /end] [INFLATION GUIDE: Let's get those prices in 2022 dollars: That's about $1.75 for bread & gravy and a "thin cup" of coffee and 88¢ for a regular coffee. /end]

[ID: Abe stands under the restaurant's awning as the rain worsens. He looks nervously inside. /end] Abe [thinking]: It looks like a long rain! I'll go in and phone for a taxicab. But oy, what a couple of them guerrilla murderers inside!!!

[ID: Abe walks into the restaurant in full tuxedo and uses a wall-mounted telephone on the wall behind the men. They turn around in their seats to glare at Abe. /end] Abe: Send a taxicab right over. I want to go to Ginsberg's Hall. I'll be outside, in front of Bill's Restaurant. On Rock St.!!!

[ID: A dispatcher at the taxi company sits at his desk, puffing on a cigar as he talks on the telephone. A sign on the wall beside him reads, "The Pink and Yellow Taxi Co. - By the Trip, Day, Month or Year" and a map of the city hangs to its right. /end] Dispatcher: Nothing doing! The chauffeurs are afraid to go near that joint!!!

[ID: Back to Bill's Restaurant. Abe's still on the phone. He's shaking with nerves now. /end] Abe: Police station?? Quick. Send over a bunch men to Bill's Restaurant, on Rock St.!!!

[ID: Abe gets off the phone and trembles as the men at the counter greet him. /end] Red: Come on, Cul. Have a cup of java and warm up. It's gettin' damp out!! Abe [thinking]: Oy, I'm trepped in their power here. I'll better give in to them till the police come!!!

[ID: He meekly sits down at a table as Red begins playing checkers with Abe. The other guy stands and watches beside the table. /end] Red: You know, there's more to checkers than many blokes think! Abe [thinking]: I wish they'd commence on me and get it over. I couldn't stend the strain much longer!!!

[ID: The men turn, surprised, as three uniformed cops burst into the restaurant, batons at the ready. /end] Cop: Hello, Red. Hello, Steve! What's wrong here, who sent in the riot call??? Red: This guy here, for some reason!!

[ID: The cop points towards the tough fellows at the card table and confronts a stunned Abe. /end] Abe: I thought... I felt that... Maybe? Who can tell? As I came in... I was almost sure... It looked like... I... Anyhoe... Cop: You don't mean them two guys?? Them's a couple of REFORMED crooks. Just reformed this morning! Have a heart!!!!!!!

[ID: Abe happily sits in the back of the police patrol wagon with two cigar-smoking cops as they drive through the rain. /end] Cop: You got to give guys like that a CHANCE, you know. Where do you want to go? Abe: Ginsberg's Hall!

#newspaper comics #vintage #history #1922 #abie the agent #transcript available #1920s #classism #call the cops #you can tell this is fiction because the cops acted reasonably and took careful consideration of the situation after they barged in #taxi #judging books by their cover