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