I look around, wondering where the fuck I’ve ended up today. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve passed out and forgotten where I am. A steady diet of booze and pills will do that to a person. I scrub my hand across my face, the gesture meant to make my vision clearer somehow, but it doesn’t work. My eyes feel crusty, my mouth is dry as fuck, and I can hear someone singing along to a song about city boys born and raised in south Detroit. And then I remember. I sit bolt upright, taking a huge gasp of air in as I do so. Salvatore is driving, still wearing that ridiculous-looking cap as he sings off-key. I take in the buildings outside as they pass by, quickly recognizing the Meatpacking District. My guess is proven correct when I catch sight of a sign for Bleecker Street. We haven’t gone far, which makes me hopeful that I can still somehow get out of this pinch. But first … Something’s missing.
