I’d Rather 
Be a Messenger 
New York City's bicycle messengers prefer 
the independence and excitement of dodging traffic 
to the routine of a nine-to-five job 
by Jack M. Kugelmass 
photographs by Yoav Levy 
“I’m speeding across town, weaving 
in and out of traffic. I’ve already done 
sixteen runs. Good messengers do 
twenty-five, hut I’ll settle for twenty. 
I’m tired, and it’s late. But I’m trying 
for that magic number. So I pedal hard- 
er. I’m pushing, trying to reach the 
front of the line of traffic. As I move up 
to take the lead, I no longer feel tired. 
My mind is working fast, checking out 
openings. I hug the curb, keeping clear 
of the traffic. But I’m riding too close to 
construction debris: there are mounds 
of dry cement powder on the road. Be- 
fore I realize what’s happening, the 
bike skids out of control. I pump the 
brakes but still can’t keep my balance. I 
can feel myself going down. The impact 
on the cold pavement overwhelms me. I 
remember there is a truck behind me, 
but my body won't move. My head can 
turn, so I twist it backward and stare 
helplessly at the driver seated high 
above me. I feel like a conquered gladia- 
tor. The driver motions to me to lie still, 
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