With my head bent into December rain, I'm walking down 57th Street through the chaos of suicide pedestrians and murderous umbrellas. I tip into a pub filled with red eyed Scrooges and elbow my way to the bar. I fold a fifty length-wise so I'll get the bartender's attention quick. I get my pint before everyone.
Some sap with jutted out lip and a chasm between his front teeth gives me the evil eye. He's pissed because I took the express. He'd better learn how to order a drink in this town or he'll die of thirst.
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