Nom Nom, the Food Expo, was uptown, in a big hotel ballroom. I drove into the back of the hotel and pulled the van up to the service elevators. I had tables, warming trays, coolers of food and signage to haul upstairs. I shlepped it all into the elevator. When the doors opened on the 14th floor, I couldn’t step out of the elevator. A man, bleeding from a huge hole in his head, lay right in front of the doors. No one else was in sight.
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