There is a man in the Oval whom I refer to as the Mayor. I see him with his Jack Russel terrier, Lucky. He runs, he stops, he lifts Lucky into the air, raising and lowering the dog several times, as if his pet were a kettlebell. I envy not merely his energy but his extroversion. It appears that anyone who enters this park—Williamsbridge Oval, in the Bronx—is greeted by the Mayor. For a period, he greeted me too.
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