*****
I am trying to break into a two-story hotel,
the bottom floor of which is a deli owned by Billy Joel, who’s retired
to run a deli. “This way, I can run it the way I want to run it,”
he tells to sitting customers, “without pressure from the big boys.”
The customers point to a huge sign of a Philly cheesesteak. “That looks delicious.”
Billy Joel nods. “We actually don’t use either real cheese or steak,” then he adds, “and it’s not from Philly either. It’s all done with chickpea.”
I wander out of the deli looking at the
second floor of the hotel. I think I could just jump on top of a
parked car and climb to the railing, but what if I am seen?