The breaks were against me from the start. It didn't come as any
surprise. I could never get away with it. I knew that all along.
There was a Packard parked just beyond the fire plug.
The metal and glass fronts of the buildings didn't show back here, only
seasoned brick glued with powdering chalk. The line of the block seemed
to stretch back, ever further away from the glossy fronts into the
crumbling stone.
A man brushed past me, wearing an Ivy League suit and snap-brim hat,
carrying a briefcase. And, reassuringly, he was in a hurry.