This is the Boy and I and we are on the W Train coming from Astoria in Queens back into Manhattan. That’s a New York Post. A painful paper. But The Times is too big and too dense to read on subway. Trash is easier to read and easier to leave behind.
The Boy is more of a New Yorker than I am. He has spent nearly half his life here.
- He can hail and stop a cab by himself [and he is good at it].
- He pleads for Bagels.
- One of his first words was "squirrel" [and that’s not easy for an adult to say]
- He picks out the sound of a fire truck or an ambulance [at any time of day or night].
- He knows when he goes into a subway that he will not be "out-side" for quite some time.
- For points... can you tell me from the subway pic: who is that looking over my shoulder? It’s not Hitler.
- And for extra points... can you tell me where the cab is in Manhattan? [New Yorkers ought not to answer this until Wednesday. Give the Non-New Yorkers a chance.]