The half-finished building stands like a testament to the New Economy. Ivy has even begun to claim the exterior. The booming sound of house techno from the rave club reverberates down the block I just walked, my too-high heels already threatening to repay me with a blister. An Amazonian blond in a slinky dress valiantly trying to hold in surgically enhanced assets leans against the door, sucking aggressively on a lollipop. She doesn’t register the gun until just before it connects with her face. I step over her and into the crush, to find the man who designed these shoes.