I was running through Times Square by myself. There were no other people in what is usually the most crowded intersection in the country. The street and traffic lights were down and the odd car and pedestrian took turns waving each other on, as one might on a deserted country road. I ran along and through 42nd street, without seeing another soul, until I heard a whistle. Someone was catcalling me as I ran in my sports bra and shorts by myself. I turned around. It was the infamous Naked Cowboy, strolling down the street by himself. In his Cowboy boots and underwear and guitar. We exchanged looks, he smiled, I smiled, and we each went on our way. It was surreal. Only in a pandemic. I wish I’d taken a photo, but it would have ruined the moment.
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