At 12:34 p.m. last Tuesday, a taxi driver named Mehari Bokrezion pulled into an empty spot next to a basketball court in SoHo in Manhattan, beneath a sign that told cabbies they could park for an hour and get some relief. He closed his eyes. Soon, he took his last breath.

The life of the city went on around Mr. Bokrezion, an Eritrean immigrant who was 59 and who had driven a yellow taxi for the same company for almost half his life. Commuters spilled out of the Canal Street subway station and walked past the taxi. Drivers parked in front of him and behind him, stood on the sidewalk chatting, and then left. Workers left the swanky Soho Grand Hotel after their shifts, exiting through the employees’ entrance, across the street from where Mr. Bokrezion sat.

Night fell. Down the street, the fabulous showed their drivers’ licenses to get into Jimmy, the rooftop bar at the fancy James Hotel. And finally, on Wednesday morning, just after the sun rose, about 18 hours after parking, Mr. Bokrezion, known as a quiet, kind man who never made a fuss at work, was found.

“It’s just so sad that so many people walked by during the day, and no one noticed,” said Ramsey Ahmed, 33, who runs a nearby food cart. “It’s just life in New York. Nobody really cares about anyone besides themselves.”