"Hey lady, it's free, don't be shy now" said the dreadlocked Bob-Marley-alike leaning at the top of the 14th Street subway entrance, a newspaper in his outstretched hand. A yellow taxi whizzed past, then an NYPD car. I clutched my paper bag of danish pastries and my cup of strong smelling coffee. It was 6am in NYC and the only thing missing was Al Pacino. If I squinted I could almost see him, slouching past, hands stuck deep into leather jacket pockets, collars turned up against the bitter February cold. The whole of New York is a movie set, the show
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