Wacky Street Love

An old guy was walking up Madison Avenue in the 90s this afternoon with the help of two ski poles—clink, clink; clink, clink—though, of course, it being spring (even a chilly one), he was wearing shoes. He had just stepped away from a typical Upper East Side matron (that is, she was wearing a fur coat), and she called after him, “I love you,” and blew him two flying air kisses—mwah, mwah—which hit me rather than him: he had already skied halfway up Carnegie Hill, and I was facing her. Except she wasn’t looking at either of us, her eyes being scrunched closed in ecstatic air loving.

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