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10 PM. I just picked up the Sunday Times and a bran muffin on Broadway, made my way past a group of Puerto Rican kids taunting a young Chinese guy walking a poodle, and tried not to look too menacing to an old lady walking in the opposite direction from me on West End Avenue.

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In an hour in midtown Manhattan you can see hundreds of people who you’re attracted to, at least two dozen genuine nut cases, and thousands of faceless hordes.