Reacher arrived, at a clumsy run, six feet five of bone and muscle and 250 pounds of moving mass, against a lean kid just then coming up out of a crouch. Reacher slammed into him with a twist and a dip of the shoulder, and the guy flailed through the air like a crash test dummy, and landed in a long sliding tangle of limbs, half on the sidewalk, half in the gutter. He came to rest and lay still.
‘The kindness of strangers,’ Reacher said. ‘Makes the world go round. Some guy wrote a play about it.’ ‘Tennessee Williams,’ Shevick said. ‘A Streetcar Named Desire.’ ‘One of which we could use right now. Three blocks for a nickel would be a bargain.’