Between being accosted by Planned Parenthood screaming I was mean not stopping, and a fellow asking me to give to the United Negro Pizza Fund, funny the first three times I’ve heard it always forking over a buck, but after the 40th let’s just say the guy’s no Richard Pryor, it’s a wonder I’m not nailed to a bar stool.
There’s the girl playing guitar in front of the bank on 86th and Lex talking and bowing to a nonexistent audience who sadly can’t sing.
I’m embarrassed to admit, I’ve given her money hoping she’d stop.
We also have a young man wrapped in a blanket with a sign reading: just need 14 more dollars to get home.
Unless he lives on Pluto, he could have gone around the world by now.
Can’t leave out the charmer calling me a cheap, skinny ass bitch when I gave him all the change I had along with my bottle of water.
Toss in the man with no legs sitting by the subway in his wheelchair who stares at you with the eyes of an apostle, and you’re broke before you even make it down the train steps.
It’s getting to me.
Can you tell?
If I want to keep my cash not to mention my mind, I need to walk along Park where doormen act more like cops than the cops do, and you can’t blame them since, one false move and Fox News will have their balls fingerprinted.
I know, soon New York will have a new mayor.
Eric Adams perhaps who seems the favorite.
Let us just hope he’ll be another John Quincy who would have done something by now.
Frankly, at this point, I’d even settle for Gomez.
SB