The 4:30 p.m. bus is 45 minutes late, and we gaze apathetically at the passengers piling up for the 5:00 and the 5:30, each with varying miffed expressions as giant raindrops fall intermittently. The bus eases out into traffic, and although we are settling in for a long, muted ride, the city carries on. A man with an in-turned foot moves against sidewalk traffic; his awkward gait clearing a wide swath around him. Tourist schlep backpacks, girls in oversized sunglasses talk on cell phones. Under mostly cloudy skies, the neon glows. We pick up speed and I catch a glimpse of an oversized banner on the side of MSG, advertising Tropic Thunder.