There are three things I know about New York so far: everybody is late for something, nobody has a freakin' clue what sweet tea is, and King Kong himself still roams the streets in the form of a growly blacksmith named Mac. This is no shifter story and I'm not his prey, although I wouldn't say no if he asked for a little taste. I've been saddled with interviewing the beast to secure my new dream job in publishing,...