We New Yorkers are a mobile bunch, relying on our own two feet more often than any place else in America to get us where we're going. Yet we face a scourge of interceptions along the way giggling with maniacal glee at diverting our path.
Panhandlers. Texters. People passing out fliers to that "Designer" suit sale. Tourists stopping to look up. Bicyclists going the wrong way. On the sidewalk. All of it one big game of Frogger with sneaky snakes, chompy alligator heads and turtles that dip their heads in the water after too long. What's a boy with a mission supposed to do? If only there was that magic vine like in Pitfall so I could swing over all this on the way to work.
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