’round the corner, fudge is made

One thing I find a little troublesome about Manhattan is that because there are so many trained artists around, there is precious little storefront art. It’s hard to get your cousin to paint a crude picture of a diaper box on the side of your market when there are ten MFAs willing to do a version in the style of your choice in exchange for a couple of Lotto tickets.

I did, however, meet some really nice folks in Coney Island. There was the dapper Mr. Shrimp:

He had quite a sense of humor, that Mr. Shrimp. I’m still wondering about that lemonade he gave me.

Then there was Chiefito and his sister Chiefita:

So sweet. So fluffy. And of course I’ll never forget the nice folks at the clam bar:

Was that a clam-flavored ice cream cone? They weren’t much for talking, so I never found out. There were these other guys at the next table, though, who offered me a really big hot dog.

I think they were in some sort of big-hat/double-entendre gang with Mr. Shrimp. Ha ha, big-hat guys. Anyway, nice to meet you all. I hope we can get together again soon.

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