Here in the urban jungle, lover’s lane isn’t the cliff overlooking the town, nor is it some lush quiet spot with nary a streak of light in the sky where the old man’s Ford is a-rockin. Rather, the cars are parked in some post-industrial corner at the Gowanus in Brooklyn. Last Saturday on a dog walk down 12th Street and 3rd Avenue, I’ve seen a chick bobbing her head up and down giving some lucky guy getting a blow job in his car. Then just yesterday, a minivan was swaying side to side on the same block. It wasn’t the car’s engine that was running, if you get my drift.

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