A common scenario for a Sacramento bicycle messenger: I enter an elevator in one of the taller office buildings downtown. A thirty-something man in a very expensive suit and glistening hair enters with me, holding a laptop case and perhaps a Starbucks grande et cetera (cliché, but very true). A few seconds into the ride to the 23rd floor he turns to me with a smirk and says, “You a runner? A court runner?” I glance back and say, “Sort of. I do a lot of court filings, but I work for an independent company rather than a law office. I’m just a general messenger.” Despite the obvious clues (bike gloves, heavy-duty shoulder bag, short-bill cycling cap, some grease on my right calf), he asks,