Mannahattas had everything it took to be a love-in, or a love island. A love motel, a love hotel, a bounce and be happy, a bounce and take in a good show on Broadway.

Hopefully Groucho Marx will be there, with his brothers. Tin Pan Alley, down a killer diller, down a gun the good man down, down the joke the killer until he forgets his mission, his misprision, his “vaudeville”, his love of flame, his spoof,

Groucho was standing near a Broadway doorway, loving it, killing it, sparing it, searing it, collecting tickets, sold elsewhere, most likely at a box office. A phone booth, a bot, an eerie canary, in a cool rhodium postulated nincompoop — that’ll do.

Broadway– in no way a Boredway– a happenstance misspelling of impending spelling bee, from you to me, as this beautiful, bright kid, with perfect posture, goofs this once, maybe he can make it back on Hollywood.

Save the whales!