The street was moving with people. Office workers holding briefcases and sloshing cups of hot coffee. Some took long sips as they hurried towards some set place in their routine. It was a ballet of weaving and missing, turning and avoiding. The same music played in each head, getting them to the elevator, the seventeenth floor, the corner office.

Taxis zipped and honked, hollered out obscenities.

At nine a.m. the street sighed and dozed.