This time, there was an acroyoga trio or foursome (it was hard to keep count) just a few steps away…
…and a guy performing juggling flourishes with a wine bottle just a few steps behind them.
Not to mention the row of fresh MBA grads in purple robes, led by purple bagpipers:
And us? All we were doing was reading and relaxing and enjoying fine lemon tarts and such. With our shirts off. But who in Greenwich Village cares about such a trifle? A nipple’s a nipple. We all have them. And in New York we’re all free to bare them under the sun.
A dozen of us packed the lawn, with books in hand from Ed McBain and Gore Vidal, David Brooks and Mindy Kaling. Not to mention the latest from comic book historian and publisher Craig Yoe, including the insanely wonderful WEIRD LOVE (collecting old romance comics; weird is the gentlest way to describe them) and ALICE IN COMICLAND (collecting appearances of Alice in Wonderland in comics ranging from Superman to Archie to Pogo.)
And what a joy it was to be back in our element. We welcomed two first-timers, plus a couple of boyfriends who tagged along, making the female-to-male ratio a bit more balanced than usual. Only one random stranger decided to be a nuisance, and he left soon enough when we declined his company. Otherwise, the afternoon couldn’t have been lovelier, nor could a dozen bare torsos have seemed more natural.
Meanwhile, up in Times Square, female toplessness is being presented this way:
Nothing wrong with body paint, and Times Square is as good a place to go topless as anywhere. But isn’t it nice when a bare chest is just a bare chest, not a spectacle on par with a guy dressed as Iron Man or a six-foot tall smurf?