You know the expression, I can’t believe my eyes?
Well here it is in Technicolor.
An elderly man in a wheelchair, while his caregiver blabs on her phone, is flashing people as they go by, me included.
He’s just bringing it out like a toy cannon giggling as if he were 6.
I’m now at the corner watching reactions. One little boy says,”Mommy, that man has his peewee out.” “Don’t look,” she answers, dragging him along.
Another well dressed lady stares at it like she knows it personally, and just keeps on going. See, even an impromptu peek at a surprise pecker is not about to make a New Yorker late.
If the whole dementia thing wasn’t so sad, it would be funny, especially in all the attendant’s oblivious glory.
What to do, what to do? I ask myself. I’ve been trying to quell my tendency to save the world, even if it means losing good material, but decide, this time just might be a worthy exception.
I waltz over, and like everyone else, is met by peewee who should be pretty exhausted by now.
“We’ve met,” I say, alas, my humor lost on our neighborhood porn star. Turning to the woman, still talking, I point to her charge since, words can never outweigh one glance, and she says,”Hold on,” to whomever she’s speaking to, before adding, “put that thing away, I’m not gonna tell ya again.”
Only in New York folks, only in New York.