I race through Times Square with half a chive cream cheese bagel in my purse, the other half in my mouth. Sixty degrees and humid, it’s the wrong day to be wearing a down jacket, but I can’t take it off: I have four full bags of clothing slung over my shoulders and one more in my hand. The gray sky cackles then breaks open in rain just as the handles of one of the paper bags tears through. Rip! Broadway splayed in a panoply of silk shirts … to continue reading, click here.
