I heard their sirens before I saw them and peeled out, tires squealing. Afterward I’d head north to confront the dealers, at least if I could elude the cops. I’d meet my Rasta buddy Little Jacob, then check out a late show by Ricky Gervais at a comedy club around the corner. Soon I would get bored, though, and carjack a luxury sedan. The glittery urban landscape was almost enough to make me forget about the warehouse of cocaine dealers I was headed uptown to rip off. I was rolling through the neon deluge of a place very like Times Square the other night in my Landstalker sport utility vehicle, listening to David Bowie’s “Fascination” on the radio.
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