One of my favorite things about my apartment is the sideshows that come to my neighborhood. They usually start long after I’ve gone to bed and announce their arrival with the prolonged soprano whistle of dense rubber ground against asphalt. The squeal is often accompanied by the pop of fireworks, rousing even the heaviest of sleepers. I roll out of bed, head to the living room window, and draw open the curtains. At the main intersection visible from my window, a crowd gathers and circles tigh...