Walk Fast, Wear Black, Don't Make Eye Contact

“If I know New York like I know my name,” he began, gracing over the floor, “folks never stay in one place long, come on!” He leaped out a shattered window onto the flat roof, his crazy coat flapping behind him. I tumbled out after him.

We assumed our places among the teeming streets of Beijing, no one giving us a second glance. I couldn’t help studying every face that went by; it’s not every day so many foreigners are among our numbers. But Cricket, the hard-core New Yorker, lived his motto: “Walk fast, wear black, don’t make eye contact.”
“Where are we going, exactly?” I asked after a few minutes of chasing Cricket’s profile.
“Where we can see without being seen,” he replied unusually curtly. “Besides, I think you got some explaining to do chiquita.”
I rolled my eyes as we came up to a small grove of trees overlooking the bustling square. He struggled while I scurried up like a squirrel. “Show-off,” he puffed.
That moment my phone began vibrating with a text & an address.

There had been an attack.

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