Julia and I left a sultry slow summer for the hot hustle of New York. JFK greeted us with indifference after a stifling budget flight from Prestwick airport. Terminal 4"s strange mixture of Far East and South American passengers made it feel not that different from Saturday night in the Vic Bar back home, just with more Americans feeling freer to complain about the services.
We got the Air Train to the subway and rode the rails into Manhattan Island. Out in the thick New York air on 5th Avenue, we were surrounded on all sides by steel, glass and stone. Like London, there was almost no way of getting your bearings inside the city, as you couldn"t see out of it, only up and along. Anyone looking up is a tourist and ripe for exploitation.
One of the things I love about America is the entrep
