Yesterday while rushing to the Toni Mess-o-rama show in Chelsea I was stopped in my tracks.
There she was. The fur wearing Jamaican grandma that my taxi nearly knocked over last week. Unmistakable, draped in top to toe mink and wobbling up 7th Avenue on a bike to small for her ample frame.
This time she was riding the wrong way on Fashion Avenue-in the opposite direction of the traffic. Very, very slowly.
She rode without regard for the rest of New York. She was doing her own thing amongst the hub bub and noise. Oblivious to the self regarding importance of the Fash Pack around the corner.
"Are you going to go my way?" I could hear her silently call.
Hell yeah.
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