The street in Brooklyn is a river of flashing, flaring light squeezed between storefront shops and small plazas of stores, clogged by vehicle traffic and swarming with early evening shift-change crowds. From above comes the roaring of an express on an elevated subway line, from curbside the incessant babble of trideo and laserdis adstands. The crowds packing the sidewalks, surging across the roadway in sudden tides, include everything from suits and salarymen to chrome dogs and squatters: human, elf, ork, of every color, shape, and size. None pay lasting attention to the pair of silver-gray Infiniti E9 heavy sedans easing along the curb lane at walking speed. None give more than a glance at the pair of male norms in blue-trimmed black sports coats threading their way through the crowds on the sidewalk.