The Stan Chronicles Low Ray was down to one leg again. When I saw him that morning, leaning against the trashcan down on East 12th Street, it was obvious he was, once again, shy one flipper. "Hey Ray, how's it going?" I asked, planning to walk on by. "Oh great," he said. "Never better. Just...fricking great." He threw me a look as he slid himself down and bounced his backside onto the sidewalk. "Um, did you lose your leg again?" "No, Stan, I'm having it re-chromed and polished so it'll go with my tux when I'm out dancing at the Ritz-fucking-Carlton." He glared at me and slapped his empty...