Be afraid.

Hurry up. You’re driving too slow, and Wife and I are trying to get to Chelsea Village, or SoCo, or TriCycle – one of those uppity Manhattan neighborhoods that I can never keep straight – for brunch. We’re here in New York City, visiting friends for the weekend, and boy, is this place nuts! I’m not talking about the New York City you visit with your entire seventh grade class, either. I’m talking about the New York City you visit as an adult, in a car. Sure, the seventh grade me had a grand old time doing things like Going to Broadway Shows, and Visiting Ellis Island, and Sleeping in Hotel Rooms with School Friends. But I was also a lot thinner back then. How times have changed. Fast forward twelve years, and now I’m doing things like Getting Lost, and Sleeping on Air Mattresses in Living Rooms with My Wife, and Making Sure That Guy is Peeing on His Car, Not Mine. I’m also getting a crash course (hopefully not literally) in Trying Not to Hit Pedestrians with Your Car. New Yorkers, especially those living in the Bronx, begin crossing the street before oncoming traffic has passed them by, bringing them within inches of your speeding automobile as they continue crossing in a sport I like to call “Chicken Walking.” I’m not entirely sure what the point is, other than to confuse and terrify out-of-towners in clumsy mid-sized sedans. The good news is, if we get lost, and we surely will, I can just ask one of the dozens of people walking next to my car for directions. I’m sure they’ll be happy to help, right?!