The secret to driving in Manhattan.
There is a sweet kind of adrenaline that comes from the anticipation of being moments away from driving through Manhattan.
It could be the fumes from Jersey City.
But I cracked the code. It's pinball.
Nothing could have prepared me for the rapid-fire alertness needed for driving through Chinatown than the hours upon hours I've spent playing pinball.
The darting eyes. The reflexes. The ability to stay focused and anticipate moves from the periphery. Sure, I look totally coked up when I play: sniffling, shifting, sweating, swearing.
But look where that got me! I can weave through Canal Street without braking, cut off taxis while honking with one hand and giving the finger with the other, and merge into the Holland Tunnel like a goddamn champ.
So: nowhere. It got me absolutely nowhere.