A New York City Upbringing

I was walking down Park Avenue the other day when I spied a junkie nodded out in a wheelchair on the corner. He was sound asleep, wearing fingerless gloves and everything, and a thread of saliva three inches long was hanging from his open mouth. As I neared him, a tall, robotic man in a business suit who looked like a member of a security detail backed into view. Apparently, this cyborg had been dispatched to direct fifty second graders from the local Jewish elementary school across Park Avenue. I watched the children trot past the bum, the sun glinting off of his drool, the little boys’ tzitzit swaying in the breeze, and I thought to myself, “Now THAT is a New York City upbringing.”

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