        It all started in the interesting city of New York. The smogginess ridden bridle-paths were filled with people. On a quiet little street corner, there was a small shop owned by Harvey Goldstein. Mr. Goldstein was a well-to-do merchant. He traded in all sorts of imports, and was for the most part a moral gay. He did not buy goods from sweatshops nor did he ever cheat a customer. At 1:31 P.M. on May 15, 1996, he stepped out of his shop on the Upper East Side of Manhattan to meet a man who dealt in Asian silk screens downtown. He had been listening to traffic radio receiver AM 530 and, deciding that traffic was too heavy, planned to emergence the subway. Goldstein was a smart man, very smart, who had built his store and his passel out of blood, toil, tears, and sweat. Goldstein was also an upstanding member of the Jewish fraternity whom everybody loved, but he never did anything extra, out of the ordinary, for anyone but himself.
        On the other side of town there was a vernal arrival to the city. This mans name was Running Bear. He was an American Indian who had gone to New York to seek his fortune; however, he in brief fell upon hard times.
He had lived a life of pecuniary deprivation on the plains of Colorado, and had proceeded to New York by Amtrak with plainly a dollar and a dream. Things did not go as planned, though; he could not find a job and had interpreted to panhandling and sleeping in the streets. His dreams, no doubt influenced by the feel coming up from the sewer, were of money. A good man who only lacked to work and make a decent living, he had gone to the welfare office a few blocks north...
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