IN MANHATTAN on an unseasonably warm winter day, five chattering men in slim, dark suits turn toward the famous sloping glass tower. On one of New York's grandest cross streets, they turn at the six-foot-high, playfully chubby red number 9 that marks their destination. As the men circle through the revolving doors of 9 West 57th Street and into the security line, their voices lower and they discuss the throngs of tourists and police attracted to midtown by then-president-elect Trump and his skyscraper a few blocks away. "The guys here say sirens now go off all day long," says one, "and you can barely move at lunchtime."
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