We're here today to "protest violence," Spencer says.

We're causing it, I'm sure. The entire staff of the Marriott neglects its duties, passengers in taxis ignore the meters for a moment, bystanders stand in shock. (Yes, there are still some things that can shock a New Yorker. Would you believe nudity is one of them?)

"Dey got bawls," I hear a bystander say.

"Dey got REAL bawls."

Yes, as a matter of fact, some of us do.

I look around and look at lots of balls. And breasts, and arms, butts, legs, backs. Cellulite. Tan lines. Tattoos. Bald spots. And some hairy ones.

The jokes start flying again – someone else yells out, "I always wanted to be on Broadway!"

Scattered laughter.

I stare at the patch of sky between skyscraper and billboard. Broadway beneath me is warm.