The rickety bicycle stood perched on its singular side stand. The handlebar overloaded with stacks of newspapers; different ones, fresh from the press, waiting to be delivered. With extreme dexterity, the man gets off the bicycle, swiftly pulls out a newspaper from the stack and rolls it up into a neat longish baton-like shape. He looks up at the second floor balcony where the rolled up newspaper baton in his hand has to be delivered. A yellow taxi stands in the background. The last few morning walkers making their way back. The man lifts his arm, leans back and the next moment the newspaper baton was flying on its way up to its destination. It cuts through the morning air and lands on the desired balcony. The man’s eyes followed the missile till it vanishes into the balcony. He hops back on his bicycle and rides off. He has more missiles to launch and see through their mission till they land.