Sunny Easter Day in Manhattan. About 3:00 pm. Breezy.
A guy in a black hockey jersey races full tilt down 58th Street. He barrels across Broadway looking up about 12 stories high, ignoring traffic. He’s a big guy about 30. Maybe played football growing up.
“Omigod omigod omigod, no no no!!!” He shouts.
I look up, following his gaze. A piece of paper is fluttering high in the air on the east side of the street, heading south.
He races after it, ignoring pedestrians, grunting as he runs.
The wind shifts. Now the paper is fluttering west and south toward 57th and the west side of Broadway. Dropping in altitude.
He runs down the middle of the avenue, zig zagging. Then in front of a shiny black Suburban, which heaves to a stop to avoid hitting the running man.
The paper drifts downward at the southwest corner of 56th and Broadway. A random pedestrian leaps for it and misses it by a few feet.
The running man leaps with his arm outstretched, almost grabs it but the wind picks up, blowing it east toward 56th about 6 floors up.
He charges across Broadway and disappears onto 56th.
By now, I’m at 56th and Broadway. He’s hidden by some construction materials as I peek around the corner.
People have stopped. A little group stands, looking expectantly down 56th Street.
“Did he get it? Did he get it?”
He emerges from behind the construction materials, walking west on 56th, clutching the paper with both hands.
As the pedestrians applaud, a curious woman walks over to him.
“What is it?”
“My tax check, man. I need it.”