Early evening in Dumbo, and I’m walking up Plymouth Street in the direction of Vinegar Hill. I pass a few people walking their dogs, someone pushing a baby stroller, but otherwise the street is empty and quiet. As I approach Bridge Street I see a woman sitting on a bench outside a loft building. She’s on her phone, and her face is illuminated in the soft blue glow. Just then, a moped turns the corner onto Plymouth Street, drives up onto the sidewalk and makes a B-line for where the woman’s sitting. The man on the moped is wearing a helmet and his face is in shadow. As he approaches the woman he deftly unties a bag from his handlebar and, without stopping, hands the bag off to the woman on the bench, who calls out ‘Thank you,’ as the moped drifts back onto the street and zips past me. I’m stunned by this improbable but seamless transaction, and my face clearly shows it: as I walk past the woman she looks up at me, smiles, and says, ‘Only in New York!’