As I have for much of both the early part of this century and the latter part of the last, I headed toward a particular friend’s house yesterday, on foot as is my current wont (or need).
On my chosen version of the journey, there is a street, just before the Williamsburgh Bridge, that I’ve noted only lately (though I’ve passed it for years) has a classic, New York, bridge-shaded, waterfront, tenementy, ramshackle, wild boy-fomenting look to it, suitable for TCM-era motion picture-making (RIP). And sure enough, yesterday, some organization or another was motion picturing on the thoroughfare, as I passed.
But I ignored it, steeling myself for a run of sorts across (most of) the river-spanning span, necessary because I didn’t have the fortitude to pursue a free gym trial on the day. Suddenly, who should I see strutting toward me below the bridge but the actor best known for his role…
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