There’s a reason I suppress spontaneity.

   Central Park West (at the time) was heavily populated by the widows whose late husbands had survived and prospered during the Great Depression. It was therefore a bastion of propriety and very elite snobbery.

   I was strolling down Central Park West one summer day, approaching one of the buildings whose monthly rent exceeded my yearly salary. A cab was parked at the curb, with the cabbie holding the door open. The building’s doorman was conducting an elderly lady and a young woman to the waiting cab. The woman was carrying the smallest dog I’ve ever seen. Imagine a mini-Chihuahua. A new-born. No! Smaller!

Cabbie:  “How much does that dog weigh, lady?”
Lady:      “Fourteen ounces.”
Me:         “Hell, I’ve had farts that weighed more than that!”

   Everyone froze. NYC froze. The Universe froze.

   After 2 seconds or so, I hurried on down the street, leaving the young woman laughing uncontrollably.

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