We get off the rig, exchange some pleasantries with the contractors and for the next few hours, assist in demolishing the building, starting with some doors and locks, then onto making holes in some walls to escape into an adjacent room, if trapped by fire.

The neighborhood is being bought back up by investors after years of neglect and enduring some of the nation’s heaviest fire-duty during the famed War Years, till present. We arrive to a ubiquitous, Old Law Tenement building that is under demolition. After downing some coffee, telling stories of the night before’s antics and comparing other notes, we’re squeezing into Engine 69 and Ladder 28 with six other guys in each, off to a vacant. As usual, that is never the case when you visit the gang at The Hilton – and I already knew it. We arrive, with requisite pastries and pies, planning to say hello, hang out with friends for a bit, bust balls and head back down to Soho and The Village to make some more bad choices for the rest of the evening.

Ray McCormack is up there waiting for us, about to start the easy-side of a 24, the 9 x 6. It’s the Fall of 2003, I think – I can’t recall the first time that I had made this trip – I’m with my usual NYC Trip Suspect, Sean, on our way up to the famed “Harlem Hilton” in West Harlem. You couldn’t get a Yellow Cab to take you up there, back then, so you had to take a car.

I’m in a Gypsy Cab, headed up the West Side Highway in Manhattan to 143rd St., “Between Powell and Douglas,” I say to the driver.

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