I remember walking down ye olde 42nd Street when I was bold and young and the theaters were packed with porn, horror and kung fu movies and hookers were like parking sign posts and mailboxes. One time, a crazy looking black man confronts me and we walk in tandem. At first he tries to sell me drugs, I say No. Then, knives. I say No. Guns? No. (Who am I, Travis Bickle?) Then he puts his hand on my chest and tries to sell me...a missile launcher. I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at him as he waited for my answer. I couldn't even form the letters N and O because I was gobsmacked. A missile launcher? Really? I think I ran away.