I loved the old Times Square.
Now it’s a tourist trap waiting the rebirth of a generation of vicious Fagins, the criminal kingpin of Charles Dickens’ OLIVER TWIST.
I have more respect more respect for the ruthless thieves of the 70s than the XXXXL tourists stuffing their faces with fast food on the ruins of Forty-Deuce.
Now the Times Square Association complains about the near-nude buskers such as Ms. 48D Long as eyesores.
I love her.
And I hate squares.
And so does the past.
