New York City

Fred Flintstone (no relation) lazes under the canopy of his peanut vending cart. He is getting as fat as his cartoon namesake. He looks so lazy. Thank goodness he lives in New York City, so at least you know he has to walk a lot. Or anyway, I assume he does. All my pals in New York City, and I have a lot of them, always walk. They take the train too, of course. Between train rides, they walk. From one line to another, they walk and walk about New York City.

I pause to record the contents of my soul.

Oh New York City, where the girls are pretty. I let my fingers go up and down the scale like this was some modal jazz. I fly free like a bird out of Alcatraz.

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