"We must look so funny,” said a young man seated behind me. Yes, we must—a hundred or so of us, assembled on metal risers, clad in our weekend wear, headphones clamped to our ears, all of us exposed in the bright fluorescence of the Whitehall Ferry Terminal. The crowds awaiting the ferry stared at us, and we stared back, trying to distinguish actors from passersby. Through our headphones, we could hear a conversation between two men, Gary and Steve. We knew they were in the station, but we couldn’t locate them—no, they were not the cops, not the Indian family, not the women on their cell phones, not the strange man making rude noises at the pigeons. Then a loudspeaker announced the ferry’s arrival, and as the room cleared, we saw our men in the middle distance. One was short and round (a woman playing a man’s role); the other was taller and slim, with a vast forehead. Once we’d sighted them,... More >>>