Transportation home from the clipper ship is kindly provided by Katie's company, who have booked a double decker tour bus to convey us to Penn Station. We sit in the front on the top, high above the streets, watching the buildings and lights pass by and enjoying the cool evening air.
While stopped at a stoplight, a young kid walks by going the other direction, and, seeing us seeing him, shouts up, "Fuck you, tourists."
"Fuck you, kid, we live here!" I shout back, and Katie looks at me, wide-eyed, while her boss, sitting directly behind us, (hopefully) ignores me.