Teaser

Last Tuesday

It’s 3:30 A.M. and I’m racing down Broadway on a bright yellow Schwinn10-speed, recently liberated from a bike rack outside a deli somewhere near 207th Street. Weaving through the network of potholes spilling over with water from the melting snow, hollering profanity over the howling wind, my eyes are tearing up and turning the road ahead into a pixilated mélange, blinking lights, red, yellow, green.

It’s a nerve-wracking operation (made none the easier by the roughly fifteen pounds of homemade explosive concealed in the Jansport bag strapped to my back), only slightly ameliorated by the gallon or so of gin churning in my stomach.