As my cab pulled off FDR Drive, somewhere in the earl
Hundreds, a low-slung Tomahawk full of black guys came
sharking out of lane and sloped in fast right across our bows. We –
banked, and hit a deep welt or grapple-ridge in the road: to the
sound of a rifle-shot the cab roof ducked down and smacked m
on the core of my head. I really didn’t need that, I tell you, wit
_ my head and face and back and heart hurting a lot all the tim
anyway, pad still drunk and crazed and ghosted from the plane.
‘Oh man, I said.