Why tourists insist on walking in a shoulder-to-shoulder, horizontal line across the sidewalk at the speed of continental drift remains one of life’s mysteries to me. I speed-walk around them and, without breaking stride, duck the outstretched arm of the guy dressed like Captain America trying to cajole me for a picture.
“Ay, Red! Smile for me! You’re way prettier when you smile!” some loser guy catcalls from the corner as I mercifully escape the death trap that is Times Square.
I make the light at Seventh, nearly get clipped by a bike messenger running the red, and flip him off without missing a beat.
I’m halfway down my block when I pass a couple huddled together on the stoop of a brownstone. Her cold-reddened face is tucked against his neck and his arms are wrapped around her like he
