The three guys cross the street blasting their music, and the dog skitters nervously away, pulling on her leash. They smirk and strut and turn it up.
Then the garbage truck grinds by, engine roaring, compactor rattling, brakes squealing, the whole huge, cacophonous monstrosity drowning out any and all sound for a block, including the guys and their ridiculous music.
No matter how bad you think you are, New York will always be badder.
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