Don't Look Down

"Go, go, go, go, go," Sonic commands in a hushed tone. Everyone follows in a tight line, descending into the darkness.

At the bottom, they step onto a floor covered in a greasy, gray mud. The room is well-lighted by listing fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. The bunker has oversized pipes bandaged in white sleeves of what Sonic identifies as asbestos. A large box filled with pressure dials hangs on one wall. The musty room was once part of a larger steam system that helped heat downtown businesses. It still hums with activity, possibly providing heat to nearby buildings.

Sonic stares at a nearby wall. It has been spray-painted with the word "RECO." Below it, there's a set of red and black spray-paint cans and an October 2005 issue of Playboy scrawled with marker like an advertisement for Sonic's Web site: "KCURBEX."

The tag belongs to a trash-talking member of the forum. Sonic grabs a spray can and paints over the reference to his site. He's furious. The tag will show that people have figured out a way to get down here. "Homeless people trying to sleep here is a lot more acceptable than territorial pissing," he tells the group. He proclaims the worst punishment he can think of: He will remove RECO's access to the Web site as soon as he gets home.

Sonic corrals the group at the base of the ladder. In formation, they climb back toward the street. Gunk caked to their boots ends up on the rungs of the ladder. All but the first in line end up with sewer slime on their hands.

They emerge from their informal clubhouse and slide their secret door back behind them. Wet, dirty and splattered with mud, they smile like children who have spent the day getting into trouble.

Sonic asks for company at his usual post-op celebration spot: Murray's in Westport. "Who wants to go get ice cream?"