Why I Love New YorkIn front of Harry's Shoes
Broadway at 83rd Street
On my way home from the subway recently I saw approaching in the opposite direction what one might describe as a "sweet little old lady". You know the type--hair tinted a subtle shade of lavender blue which she's had washed and set every Tuesday and Saturday at the same "beauty parlor" for the last forty years where she enjoys reading McCalls under the dome of an enormous hairdryer. She was wearing a conservative yet stylish tweed suit which had been expertly tailored to accommodate her slight osteoporosis stoop. She was tastefully accesorized with a single strand of cultured pearls and pearl button earrings. She wore black and tan spectator pumps in the kind of sensible heel only a real New Yorker who actually walks places would choose. Her capacious handbag, probably containing mostly Kleenex and cough drops, dangled from her forearm and, of course, matched her shoes perfectly.
She was dwarfed behind a Cadillac of a walker with a high-tech hand break system and yellow tennis balls affixed to the feet of its front legs. She shuffled along behind this thing wearing the contented expression of someone who'd just come from a lunch spent reminiscing with a dear old friend or perhaps she was just taken with the perfect weather that day. As I passed her on the sidewalk I noticed that attached to the lapel of her lovely tweed suit was a HUGE button emblazoned in big black letters with the words "IMPEACH BUSH".