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At its simplest, it is a taxi garage where drivers come to pay their weekly medallion dues and rant about the afternoon’s snooty tourists. But step away from the teller’s line and cabbies enter — by garage standards, anyway — a luxury suite: plasma TVs hanging from the walls, private showers next to the mechanics’ floor and soon (the bosses promise), a trio of massage chairs for the lounge.
It’s Paradise in a Pit Stop for Cabbies in Queens, and They Fix the Cars, Too
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