The split screen of the debate was priceless: Trump spewing nonsense, a perpetual scowl on his face, and Harris gazing at him in wonder and amusement as he set a match to his candidacy.
“Crossing Central Park West, they made a striking older couple. Faye in tight black pants, a well-fitting sweater the color of her hair, and walking shoes. Pincus in a pair of new-looking blue jeans, probably his first, that Faye had bought him, of course, and his plaid jacket and muffler.”
Installment 13: Fred, the scavenger in Suite 62, on his daily round: "On the street, Fred hopped on his bike. As soon as he started pedaling, the wind and car exhaust in his face, he got the feeling. He was totally free! Free as a NYC pigeon. Neither rain nor snow could keep him off his bicycle, the best fastest and cheapest way to get around the city."
