Got off the 6 train and exited on Park between 26th and 27th.

I’m doing the regular high-speed slalom through pedestrians when I feel a whack in the middle of my back (technically, my knapsack).

I assume it’s a co-worker, because that’s what you do to a friendly co-worker when he flies by you on the sidewalk. You whack him on the back. Sometimes you say, “Wassup, dude?”

I whip around and see what looks like a dandy version of Uncle Junior: 75-year-old guy wrapped in a form-fitting gray and black herringbone overcoat, face tensed into an angry scowl. Like an old man trying to return soup at the deli, as George Costanza once said.  

junior.jpg

“What the f*** is the problem?” I ask.

Now we’re walking side by side. Dandy Uncle Junior doesn’t answer.

“Seriously, what the f*** is the problem?”

I’m about to let it go. I mean, how hard do you go after a septuagenarian in a form-fitted overcoat?

Dandy Junior flings a hand skyward and blurts out, “You cut in front of me!”

He then bolts a quick right onto 26th.

I stay on Park, comforted by the knowledge that I could’ve taken him.  

[photo: hbo.com]