Commuters poured out of Grand Central’s exit, racing along 48th Street towards Park Avenue. The walk signal stopped flashing, replaced by a bold orange hand. Bodies pressed at the corner, jostling for position. Several impatient souls, unwilling to wait, dashed across the street in leather shoes and high heels. The traffic lights changed from red to green.

Yellow cabs and black town cars accelerated like dragsters, narrowly missing the suits still darting across the wide avenue. A FedEx truck turned onto 48^th Street as pedestrians swarmed its crosswalk. Gridlock ensued.

Horns blared, sirens wailed, helicopters whirred, and jackhammers hammered. Heat radiated from the asphalt, and steam billowed from vents. The scent of tar and exhaust permeated the air. Bankers, lawyers, and accountants power-walked past huddled homeless and silver coffee-carts. They moved like sharks needing to swim.

Nick’s office chair squeaked as he reclined from his office window. He rocked, three or four times, watching his reflection. Crystal tombstones, trinkets from closed deals, lined his windowsill. Vertical blinds tapped thick panes of skyscraper glass. Sherry barged into his office carrying a stack of forms…