"Hello?" he called.A figure emerged, wearing coveralls that might have been blue once. The older man with a scraggly beard blinked at him. He looked t... be perpetually grease stained. The man turned and spat a stream of tobacco juice to the ground. Steam rose from the stinking mess in the cold December air.Waylon resisted the urge to look down at his feet to see what he was standing in."Whut cain I dew fer yeh?" the man's accent was thick and nearly incomprehensible."Good afternoon. Mr. Newberg. "S'okay! Up the stairs, first door to the right and mind the top step!" I smiled at him. Two days ago I would have been surprised but not any more.The minute they heard that accent, the minute they picked you out as a Brit,the reaction was always the same. You weren't a threat any more; you were… youwere an Englishman in New York. As much a danger to them as Quentin Crisp wouldhave been to Mike Tyson. The stairs were as dark and gloomy as the rest of the place, I didn't actuallysee or even feel. More

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