I passed by the façade of a grand-looking hotel, flags out front flapping in the breeze, black town cars idling at the curb, and then had to jump back when a car zoomed out of the attached parking garage and out onto the street. The guy next to me, AirPods in his ears, met my eye and shook his head and I rolled my eyes in solidarity, before we both walked on. But as I did so, it was with a secret bounce in my step. I’d just been taken for a New Yorker! Someone who’d also reached the end of their rope with these parking-lot car shenanigans. I quickly reached the next street—this one was Park. As I waited for the light to change—I didn’t yet feel confident to cross against the light unless there were also a lot of other people doing it—I looked up and my breath caught in my throat.

There was a stunning building ahead of me, silver and Art Deco and stretching high above the rest. My first thought was that it was the Empire State Building, but a moment later I realized that wasn’t right, and that I was looking at the Chrysler Building. Humming the line about it from Annie, I smiled as I crossed the street.

It wasn’t until I’d passed Lexington that I realized something was wrong. Not only had I not seen any sign of the theater district, but the buildings seemed to be getting smaller, not bigger. And when I reached the next intersection, and it said Third Avenue, I understood, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, that I’d just walked three avenues in the wrong direction.

I sighed as I turned around, bitterly aware that this wouldn’t have happened if I’d had access to Google Maps like a civilized person. But because I didn’t—because Stevie had gone home and left me behind—I’d just wasted time going in the exact opposite direction, and now I needed to retrace my steps all over again.

I looked around, and when I saw MURRAY HILL BAGELS on an awning, I realized that I’d ended up back in Mallory’s neighborhood. I’d never even heard of Murray Hill an hour ago, and now I’d been here twice.