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Show The Big City: The iron coughing of trolleys as they rumble from corner to corner. . . . New York servicemen (just back from overseas) strolling along Bright Light Lane and warming their spirits over familiar sights. . . . The sunrise festival of vivid hues celebrating the birth of a new day. . . . Broadway's visual poetry punctuated by skyscraper exclamation exclama-tion points. . . . Hot-dawg addicts gulping the delicacy as if it was the last h. d. on earth. . . . The numbing surgery of a comely waitress' wait-ress' sharp glare cutting oft a Romeo's Ro-meo's spieL . . . Cabbies bullying their way through traffic. ... A beanery with a caviar tag: Rendezvous Rendez-vous de Leon. . . . Film box-offices growing tails of waiting patrons blocks long. . . . Shadows scribbling grotesque murals across the street. The furry waves of mink-coated first-nighters drowning a theater m luxury. . . . Side-street hotels bruised with age, where misery goes to find company. . . . Vain Stem thespians basking in the spotlight spot-light of their bragging tongues. . . . Weary night-workers squatting on the masses' throne a subway seat. Their cob-webbed orbs peer at each other as if they weren't there. . . . The well-heeled set pulling themselves them-selves up by their own booty Salesgals tucking the frayed edges of their patience under a smile and pinning it with a dimple. . . . The rainbow glint of jewelry on a Money Lisa. Her diamonds are campaign stars for boudoir battles. ... A deep, blue-eyed noon sky twinkling with sunshine, scarcely noticed by lunch-hourites. Morning stripping the Big Alley of its sparkling fig leaves, while the sun exposes is nude ugliness. . . . Shooting galleries recruiting customers custo-mers by playing martial music. . . . Dusk prowling about the horizon as The Street puts on its mazda apron and goes to work impressing pass-ersby. pass-ersby. . . . Professional mendicants who are skilled window-dressers of their sympathy display. . . . Five ayem, when Broadway's raucous roar subsides into a comforting purr. . . . The Saturday evening jubilee ju-bilee spree, when Neon Valley is packed to the brim with humanity attempting to smuggle a little amusement into their harried lives. . . Midtown's paralytic traffic snailing its way forward. . . . Tin Pan Alley's jittery tempo striking up an overture for songwriters' insomnia. Midtown Vignette: Gecre Mano reports about the kindly gentleman on a park bench, who was breaking break-ing bread crumbs for the pigeons. One pigeon fluttered down on the old man's knee to peck at crumbs that had fallen there. . . . "Do you like these crumbs better than popcorn?" pop-corn?" asked the kindly old fellow. . . The pigeon cocked his head up at him and then resumed eating. . "Weil," continued the old man, "here it is nearly December. I suppose sup-pose you birds will be leaving me soon for the Southland." . . . Again the pigeon looked up said nothing and went on eating. . . . The old man got irritated and yelled: "Whatinell's the matter with you? Are you too good to talk to me?" . . . This time the pigeon didn't even look up but went on eating. . . . "How do you like that?" asked the old gentleman, shaking his head. "A deaf and dumb pigeon!" Sounds in the Night: In the Metro-pole: Metro-pole: "Waiter, bring me a skirtch and soda." ... At Enduro: "She stays out until the woo hours of tht morning." ... At Armando's: "They've just been divorced. She got custody of his money." ... At the Henry Hudson Terrace: "He's a heeluva guy." ... At Lum Fong's. "She used to be his heartache. Now she's just his earache." ... In the Stork Club: "Mayor LaGuardia will be the first guy in show business-who business-who knows enough about horses not to bet on them." ... At the Chateaubriand: Cha-teaubriand: "Oh, well, here's mud in your mind." Manhattan Murals: Placard in an E. 56th St. candy store window: "Welcome Home. Tony, You Phony!" . . . The 98c packages of Jap souvenir invasion money sold at newsstands in Penn depot. . . . Jimmy's Sawdust Trail where the cover charge is ten cents. . . . The "No Dogs Allowed" sign outside the Iea Circus on 42nd Street. . . . The tiny restaurant near Toots Shor's on W. 51st Street, which advertises: : "Lunch 65c Positively No Celebrities!" Celebri-ties!" . . . One ad agency is Bo snooty it won't hire any office boy "below the rank of Lieut. -Colonel." On Thanksgiving Eve, during that heavy rainstorm, cops recorded 41 fights on B'way. Most of them over who hailed the cab first. . . . Football Foot-ball betting with Broadway bookies this season totaled more than 12 million dollars in the Metropolitan area. . . . Clen Ryan, ex-secy to the mayor, is starting hii own realty firm with nothing but millionaires for partners. . . . Eric Johnston's first official banning (since becoming movie boss) was Carole Landis singing sing-ing a film ditty titled: "Tve Got a Flame Too Hot to Handle." |