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Thirteenth Street comes up quick; these north-south blocks are much shorter than the cross-town blocks. The light is red for me, but there’s a big hole in the traffic and I plunge through it no problem. I race the length of another block and across 12th, just in front of a bicycle messenger going the wrong way down the street and, behind me, I hear a neat little collision and a lot of cursing.

I twist my head around to confirm it. Red is all jumbled up with this Jamaican dude and his bike. I dodge traffic to the north side of Third Avenue and down a block to the multiplex movie theater on the corner of 11th Street.

A ticket window is open just around the corner, off the avenue, and out of Red’s view. No one is waiting in line. I have a twenty in my hand. I shove it under the glass, panting.

—One.

The guy in the booth is reading a magazine and he doesn’t look up from it.

—For what?

—What?

—What movie do you want?

—Anything, I don’t care.

This time he looks up at me.

—Well, ya gotta pick something.

—I’m telling you, I don’t care, I just. Just anything, OK?

He puts down his magazine.

—Look, don’t give me a hard time, just pick a movie.

—Man!

I look at the movies. They’ve got eight screens and only three pictures playing on them and they all suck. The ticket booth is built into the corner of the theater with windows on both 11th and Third. Through the glass, behind the booth guy, I can see a block up the avenue where Red is getting untangled from the Jamaican and his bike.

—Just give me a ticket for anything you like, OK?

—Well, I like Shell Shock, but it started a half hour ago.

—I’ll take it.

—But it started a half hour ago, you missed the best part.

—One for Shell Shock, please.

—OK, man, but it’s not my fault if you don’t like it or you don’t know what’s going on.

—One! Please!

—Yeah, yeah, cool it.

He punches out my ticket and pushes it through the glass along with my ten dollars change and three or four coupons for monster servings of soda and popcorn at the concession counter. I take the ticket and the change. Inside, I watch the street through the tinted glass of the lobby doors. Red is looking around for me, and the Jamaican is in his face; a few people are standing on the sidewalk watching the altercation. Red does something to the Jamaican. I can’t really see what he’s done, but the Jamaican drops straight to the asphalt and I think I see a few of the spectators flinch and they all suddenly find better things to do and start to walk away. Red takes one last look around and heads down the street in my direction, but still on the wrong side of the block. I give my ticket to the ticket guy and he looks at it.

—You know this started a half hour ago?

—I know.

—You want to wait? There’s another starting in twenty minutes.

—I’m in a hurry.

—OK.

He tears the ticket and passes my half back to me.

—Two levels down on the escalator, concessions on the right.

I step onto the down escalator.

—Thanks.

—Sure, but you already missed the best part.

I’ve seen Shell Shock. I know that I have indeed already missed the best part, which speaks volumes about an action movie that runs over two hours. The bathroom is on the first level down, so that’s where I stop. It’s empty. I go into the stall, take off Yvonne’s jacket and my sweater and pull up my T-shirt and, sure enough, the peeling bandage is stained with a bit of fresh red. I take a seat on the toilet and rest my head in my hands.

I’m thirsty.

I get off the can, leave the jacket and sweater in the stall and go over to the sink. It’s one of those where you push the knob down and it turns itself off a moment later. I push it down and hold my cupped hands under the water and it shuts off before I can fill them up. I hold the knob down with one hand while I fill the other, but I can’t really get a proper drink that way. Finally, I just hold the knob down and stick my head in the sink and drink straight from the faucet. I’m really