NARRATIVE of WARD COURIER

April, 2012

BUFFALO, NY

It was four. I had been walking, jogging, and running for two hours on the streets of the West Side, every second expecting a lightning-like assault and a close-quarters fight for survival. I had long since dropped Marty Freiberg's flopping racket, which - five minutes after leaving Mike on the trot, I looked down to notice I was still clutching. I kept foraging for handy objects suitable for self-defense. I ...