The birdcage was overturned on the sidewalk, the door still swinging.
A teenage boy is being pushed down the sidewalk on an office chair in the cool of the night. He is wearing a bicycle helmet, and his friends are laughing hysterically.
A young man is hopping down Park Avenue on a pogo stick. He was buoyant, sweaty and exhausted.
In the end it was not the booze, the cigarettes, or the life of crime that killed Grandma Burns. It was her toilet seat.
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