The Condor

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NEON lights revealed a hunched figure shambling along the sidewalk beneath the structure of an East Side elevated. A wizened face looked up at the ruddy glare of the delicatessen sign; then the hunched man scruffed on toward the blackened front of an empty store.

Reaching darkness, he paused.

This was one of those composite districts of Manhattan. Old buildings lined the avenue; the presence of the elevated had discouraged the erection of more modern structures. Yet there were bright spots along this decadent block; stores that enterprising merchants had opened in hope of mass business. These were the places that the shambling man was anxious to avoid.

He preferred darkness; he gained it as he scudded to the shelter of an elevated pillar. Crouching until a taxicab rolled by, the hunched man hustled to the far side of the street. Avoiding the lighted window of a corner pawnshop, he took to a secluded byway.

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