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Ray McCormack is up there waiting for us, about to start the easy-side of a 24, the 9 x 6. ![]() It’s the Fall of 2003, I think – I can’t recall the first time that I had made this trip – I’m with my usual NYC Trip Suspect, Sean, on our way up to the famed “Harlem Hilton” in West Harlem. You couldn’t get a Yellow Cab to take you up there, back then, so you had to take a car. I’m in a Gypsy Cab, headed up the West Side Highway in Manhattan to 143rd St., “Between Powell and Douglas,” I say to the driver.
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