Once, on Halloween I had to retrieve my car, which was parked at the pier on the west side, because a spot in my "trendy" neighborhood is about equal to the cost of a sunny one-bedroom apartment in Kansas City. Thank you, Robert DeNiro and all your sushi chef friends.
It was quite warm, just a beautiful balmy late-October day.
Quiet anticipation grew as the city got ready for the famed Halloween parade in Greenwich Village.
I decided to run to the car.
I couldn't find anything summery to wear, except tight silky shorts. Hadn't worn them in a while. Short ones, maybe were once in style. Bobby Brady could have fit in them.
Actually, I'm not sure when exactly they'd have been in style.
But the tiny shiny satiny shorts were in my drawer. The looked clean. I put them on, with for unknown reasons, tube socks. I didn't even know I had tube socks. Wore them high. Found a tank top, too tight as well. My hair was really bushy at the time.
Sixth Avenue was closed. New Yorkers were three deep behind the police horse barricades, waiting for the famed Halloween parade. I decided to run up Sixth -- an infrequent and very cool chance to jog an empty Manhattan Avenue during daylight.
As I was running past the crowds, checking out the costumes, enjoying life, a young girl squealed, "OH MI-GOD! LOOK! HE'S GOING AS RICHARD SIMMONS!!"