Viv pushed the crate out of the cold Central Park, and without the trees as a windbreak Central Park West was even colder. Pedestrian traffic immediately tripled. Fifty cars rushed past her in both directions. She didn’t know what was in the crate, and the blanket smelled terrible. People avoided her and the crate. Just two blocks until the warmth of her hotel.

  She had just found out a dinosaur egg was cooked live on television. The broadcast was from a studio just a mile from where she was standing. She needed to stash the crate in her room, then hail a taxi to Rockefeller Center.

  She pushed the crate down a few blocks to a crosswalk like a responsible citizen. Central Park West was a street so busy that you couldn’t just jaywalk across, because of the traffic. Also, she needed a curb cut for the crate. A family of the hoity sort to live in the giant apartments with views of Central Park moved around her like iron filing to the wrong end of a magnet.

  She crossed CPW and made it to her hotel. The doorman saw her and walked over. He was a young Latinx guy – weren’t all doormen old? – who apparently didn’t mind standing in the cold all day right next to a warm lobby. Maybe the red jacket and hat were quilted.

  He was very friendly as she left an hour ago. He was less friendly now. “I’m sorry, ma’am, pets are not allowed here.” He said that before he could even smell the blanket.

  “Oh, this isn’t a pet.”

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  “Animals. Animals aside from service animals are not allowed.”

  “It’s in a crate. I’m not letting it out.”

  “Whatever it is, it cannot enter. Hotel policy.”

  “.. is there a service entrance?”

  “There is but not for this. I’m afraid you’ll need to store it somewhere else.”

  “Where?”

  He gestured to the buildings on either side, and the park across the street. Viv saw a tattoo peeking out of his neck when he gestured. “The city is yours, ma’am.”

  Viv pushed the crate away from her stupid pointless fancy hotel. A crummier hotel wouldn’t even notice her bringing this in. Did the Upper West Side have motels?

  To the doorman’s point, though, there were thousands of places in this city where a dog crate could be stashed for an hour without someone snooping. Viv just didn’t know them.

  Could she just leave the crate by a dumpster, or in an alley somewhere? Alleys of the sort where muggers got thwarted by Spider-Man didn’t seem to exist in actual New York, but there were lots of back areas where every building’s garbage was stored. Could she just leave the crate there?

  No, of course not. Someone compassionate would check the dog left alone in a crate, and they’d open the crate door and it’d be a monster movie.

  No time to commiserate, she had to get to Rockefeller Center. “Taxi!”

  It took two entire stupidhead minutes for her to flag a taxi. There were car services and rideshares she could use, but she was a little excited sticking out her hand and waving down a yellow sedan. She waved at all taxis going south. No one stopped. She saw plenty that were empty heading north, and seriously debated crossing the street to get one of those. But eventually a southbound one stopped for her.

  That was when she realized her own stupidheadedness. She couldn’t fit this crate in the taxi. Too wide to fit in the backseat, too tall for the trunk. The cab drove off without her.

  Some yellow taxis were SUVs or minivans. But waiting for an empty one of those might take all day.

  She had to take the dinosaur on the subway.