Kris was my best friend and even more naive than myself - for awhile. On the weekends, when we rode into the city and observed life in its most crowded and complex setting, our naivete quickly diminished. More than a few times we lost each other boarding subway cars, as we attempted to climb in between the fat lady with the seven packages, and the white whiskered old Chinaman with the bottle of Jim Beam, or any other of several noticeable but nameless persons.
It seemed like the whole world was in New York City. In Rockefeller Center we saw a man without legs moving speedily along the ground on a tiny flat board with four tiny wheels. In Central Park we met a pervert lurking in some beautiful, if now tainted, rose bushes. In Greenwich Village we intellectualized with the Bohemians of MacDougal's Alley. The whole world, as least in New York City, was juggling awake my sense of understanding and preparing me to return home where I would soon assume a new role.
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