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Mar. 30th, 2005 12:14 amMay 25, 2004
Corner of Varick & North Moore Streets
Manhattan
New York City is a funny place. Things happen there all the time, and nobody notices. Well, the tourists do, but they don't count, and the people from New Jersey do, but they're from Jersey, and the New Yorkers themselves do, but to admit that you actually noticed would be to admit that you were caught by surprise. In New York City this is often the equivalent of hanging out a sign saying 'COME AND GET IT, BIG TASTY BAIT', and so the natives do their best to avoid visibly acknowledging the unusual. Sometimes, especially in the vicinity of a certain firehouse on the edge of TriBeCa, this is all but impossible.
This is not one of those times. Nobody really cares if there's a full-sized refrigerator delivery carton leaning up against the outer wall of the firehouse. Garbage happens.
So nobody's looking when the side of the box stirs a bit, gets pushed open, and disgorges a pair of people. The woman merely steps away from the box as if to get her bearings, but the man takes one look up at the building, then dashes straight to the edge of the street, where he crouches in front of a newspaper machine. "Yes!" he exults, pumping a fist in the air. "I think we found it, Romana!"
Corner of Varick & North Moore Streets
Manhattan
New York City is a funny place. Things happen there all the time, and nobody notices. Well, the tourists do, but they don't count, and the people from New Jersey do, but they're from Jersey, and the New Yorkers themselves do, but to admit that you actually noticed would be to admit that you were caught by surprise. In New York City this is often the equivalent of hanging out a sign saying 'COME AND GET IT, BIG TASTY BAIT', and so the natives do their best to avoid visibly acknowledging the unusual. Sometimes, especially in the vicinity of a certain firehouse on the edge of TriBeCa, this is all but impossible.
This is not one of those times. Nobody really cares if there's a full-sized refrigerator delivery carton leaning up against the outer wall of the firehouse. Garbage happens.
So nobody's looking when the side of the box stirs a bit, gets pushed open, and disgorges a pair of people. The woman merely steps away from the box as if to get her bearings, but the man takes one look up at the building, then dashes straight to the edge of the street, where he crouches in front of a newspaper machine. "Yes!" he exults, pumping a fist in the air. "I think we found it, Romana!"
