I turn over and Jamie Lee Curtis is lighting up a cigarette. "That was fantastic." She says.
I'm feeling kind of relaxed myself. We're in a really ropey rail-road apartment close to the line. A subway train clatters past and I can see the water in a glass jug vibrating slightly and hear the lips of two glasses rattling together. The radio alarm says six fifteen. I'm just thinking that maybe Jamie Lee could take away the morning chill when the door springs open and Tommy Lee Jones bursts in with a grenade launcher. Tommy is some sort of middle eastern terrorist - the Karachi shirt and the bandanna are a dead give-away. Jamie Lee is too quick for him and she's already pulled out her Colt Python .357. A bullet hits Tommy in the shoulder and he executes a deft roll back into the corridor. A grenade shoots through the thin walls of the rail road apartment creating a shaft of light as it crashes out through the blinds of the window. The granade enters a carriage of the passing six fifteen. A-train containing 6 members of the Bronx Postal Department on their way to the sorting office.

Jamie Lee and me duck under the covers as the windows come in. Tommy has made his getaway. I figure he's a tenacious bastard and will turn up later with some friends - all armed to the teeth. We'll probably sort it out in an underground car park, or perhaps a shopping mall. I imagine he's the sort of person who would back into a lift with a bazooka held to the head of a pregnant woman.