"One of each?" asked a middle-eastern man with a huge head of wiry hair and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. Please." There were four keys on the ring. As the machine ground out a duplicate set of keys, Steve moved to the window and glanced down Avenue A. No sign of her. "I can't copy the post office key," the man said over the whine of the machine. "It says right on it, 'Do Not Duplicate'." "No problem. Forget it." Steve dug into his pocket for money. "How much?" "Three bucks plus." "Plus what?" "Tax, man. Where you from? The moon?" Steve laid four dollars on the counter and stuffed the keys into his pocket. As he bolted for the door, he heard the locksmith call, "Hey buddy, your change!" but he didn't stop. Through the front window, he saw the man shrug and drop back down onto his stool. Steve ran around the corner and into the post office. He cut in front of the "Broken mailbox/pick up" line and shoved the keys through the gridwork. "Found these on the floor," he said. The clerk glanced up without interest and tossed them into a box with "lost & found" printed on the side in blue magic marker. Steve stepped back outside and stood in front of a street vendor's table full of wallets. Nervously, he picked one up and pretended to examine it. "Genuine eel skin," the vendor said. "Best price in the city." She was coming around the corner. "Just looking," Steve said, replacing the wallet. Her eyes were covered with her big dark glasses, but her mouth was set in a tense line that created a squared off angle in her jaw. She pulled the door open and disappeared into the post office. Steve slowly walked the half block to the entrance to the L train and descended.