You are cruising through Midtown while sitting atop one of those double-decker tour buses, a wide swath of perfect blue sky encasing the city. There's nothing like a cool summer morning in Manhattan, the bustle of the streets against the familiar background of granite and concrete, the sweet smell of chestnuts and perfume, exhaust fumes and sweat forming a cornucopia that is unmistakably New York.

A woman brandishing a chartreuse handbag hurriedly crosses 33rd Street, evading an oncoming taxi by mere inches. Three pigeons swoop down on an unsuspecting hot dog vendor before he shoos them away.

Look around, though, and you'll notice that your fellow passengers aren't enjoying the same pleasures. It's an intriguing array, these people. A dozen or so public relations folks, more than a handful of VIPs, some unwieldy cameramen, a few buttoned-down security guards and seven Tiger Woods wannabes.