'A-tri-um'. Rhymes with 'no-see-em'. But on this trail we did see 'em. All of em'. Every mid-Manhattan atrium that could loosely be described as having public access was woven into Alice's creation. Counted among the more salubrious establishments was the Hyatt Hotel next to Grand Central Terminal (of which more later)- we entered the second floor side entrance and checked out moments later without even tipping the Bell Hop.

One of Donald Trump's towering trifles was also privileged to welcome us. The extravagant gold and brass trim and gleaming marble could not but remind one of the newly restored Grand Central Terminal (which I shall refer to elsewhere in this text).

Personally I enjoyed the abundant parking garages. In fact whenever I lost the trail I would charge into the nearest garage without hesitation, confident of finding at least some scattering of flour. I also found that the barenaked concrete of these garages reminiscent of the platforms of Grand Central Terminal (qui vive).

Were you, as I was, reminded of the schoolmasters refrain of "No running in the corridors!" when blasting through one of the genuinely public indoor spaces on the eastern borders of mid-town, as the uniformed security "jobsworth" character cajoled us to a trot? In their smart outfits they could have stood in as ticket collectors at Grand Central Terminal (covered in an earlier chapter).

Macy's. The biggest department store on earth. 20% off everything. But try asking for a pint of beer. Hell - at there are bar cars in the trains in Grand Central Terminal (see Glossary for definition). (Now there's any idea for a hash.)

Down under. Well not exactly Australia but down under Penn Station where the floor cleaners roam unchecked, on call at a moments notice to vacuum up anything resembling a white powder that may be dropped by rush hour commuters. Incidentally Penn Station will in a few years the site of a monstrous futuristic civil engineering scheme seen hitherto only in the Vanderbild exhibition hall at Grand Central Terminal. (Pop along - it's free for hashers.)

And so on-inn to the garden. The Garden Tavern. In Donald Trump's worst) nightmares his gleaming marble temples become dilapidated hell-holes in the syle of The Garden Tavern. Much like the pre-restoration Grand Central Terminal.

And now to the hidden subtext. Where is the oft-mentioned description of Grand Central Terminal in this write-up. Well, to find it you'll just have to hunt around. I'd suggest you scour the area for approximately six blocks in all directions and the more astute amongst you (but not Daves Croft and Godbold and I dare say some others) may find it.

Hedgehog

PS For the poor souls who were not on the run and wonder what on earth I'm blathering on about (and why Alice asked me to do the blathering).

I'll just explain that Alice's trail disappeared from a check into G.C.T., was violently assaulted by cleaners, and surfaced for air at the end of the new access tunnel (free for hashers) around 6 blocks north at 48th street, where it was not located by the Daves mentioned previously.