The Empire State Building is on fire. Engulfed in flames. Beautiful, symmetric, dancing, diaphanous Hollywood flames. Chemical flames. Tongues of flames. Flames that want to lick the inky night sky.
They fire fighters have all come out to fight the fire. Ladders. They are stacking ladders up the side of the building, consecutively up the same way that the ladders go down into a granite quarry. One ladder after another at a steep incline. It sways and wobbles. Every once in a while the chief decides that one of the men must be sacrificed. A lieutenant somewhere on the ladder will turn and sing a plaintive song to one of the other men until he become hypnotized and willingly leaps from the ladder.
Onward they push. Onward they stack the ladders until they reach the roof and the men start to spill over, rushing downward as if to smother the flames.
Somewhere in Central Park, a police officer shoots a pimp, and sets free two reluctant hookers.