YOU'RE LOOKING MIGHTY FINE IN THAT ANORAK THIS MORNING, BABY

At 8:30 this morning, I went out to grab some quick breakfast and hit the supermarket (it wasn't open yet, and what's with that? I pay through the nose to live here for 24-hour convenience, among other things, and I want what I want when I want it, and I'll tantrum my bad self all over Manhattan if the doors ain't open). It's a lovely morning, still chilly but not nearly as cold as the last week, and it's always a pleasure to walk the streets of New York when they're not brimming with quasi-autistic knuckleheads running about as if the streets were some big romper room.

I have no idea why I was surprised to see three guys just hanging out on the corner, looking cool, shooting the shit, scoping the honeys, hogging the pay phones, playing hoodlum, doing their thing. At eight-thirty on a Sunday morning. Did these guys call each other at seven and say, "Hey guys, what say we get some corner time in before the wife wakes up?" They were not waiting to be picked up, they weren't dressed for day labor or anything, not a paper coffee cup in the bunch. Their catcalls to the parka'd chiquitas were ignored (of course, what woman goes out at that time of day looking to hook up with someone? Oh, alright, I'm sure there's an answer to that.)

They weren't hurting nobody. It was kind of funny, is all.