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“Welcome to our world, welcome to our world, welcome to our world of toys….”

Over and over those lyrics played, again and again. The theme song at FAO Schwartz was slightly repetitive to say the least. No person in there right mind could stand among the fancy toy filled wonderland for more than a half hour due to that song that just never stopped playing. Music enthusiast or not, even that might be too long.

Thru the tall, revolving glass doors, my friend, Lumi and I stepped out onto 5th Avenue and into the late August heat coming off the slabs of concrete in New York City. Lumi’s red eyeballs spotted a hot dog cart on the corner. He ordered a polish dog with extra sauerkraut, relish, onions, lots of mustard and ketchup. We stood near the umbrella of the cart and viewed the avenue in motion.

I slugged down an ice cold chocolate Yoo-Hoo in my typical three gulp fashion. My bi-spectacled, 6 foot three inch, 140 pound chum carelessly devoured his overloaded polish dog. Unable to keep from laughing I watched the ketchup and spicy deli mustard fall from the bun, blending in nicely with the array of colors on his tie dye t-shirt.

“Told you, you put too much shit on that dog,” I insisted, as the green relish found its way onto his shirt.

With a mouthful Lumi replied, “No way, this is the way I like my hot dogs.” Chomp, chomp.

“Technically, that ain’t even a hot dog, it’s a polish.” I pointed out.

“Even better!”

“Yeah, maybe if you’re Polish. But you aint Polish,” I insisted. “Doesn’t Lumi mean, fuckin snow in Russian, or some shit like that?”

In between bites he replied. “It does indeed. And I might be Russian, but I like my dogs Polish.”

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