#seventh ave

7th Avenue,looking north toward 145th Street, September 21, 1934. Below, a detail from the photo.

Black Jack Exotic Book Store on 42nd Street between Seventh and Eighth Avenue features the “latest and greatest.” These stores were rampant in the 1970s.

"Did you ever think that in your rush to get there you're failing to experience the journey, Page?"

"Good point, Mr. Williams." I was racing us across town between talk shows.

"Don't Good Point Mr. Williams me."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Williams."

"Don't I'm Sorry Mr. Williams me!"

"Yes, Mr. Williams."

"Goddamnit!" And with that, Mr. Williams pushed open the door of the Expedition -- he'd apparently disabled the child locks! -- and ran into traffic, running and shaking hands, and running, and shaking hands. He's a lovely man, despite his temper.

My cell rang as I chased him across Seventh Avenue. My phone is always on vibrate, but a few emergency numbers cause it to ring, so I grabbed it. Ari Emanuel. Power Agent.

"Yes Mr. Emanuel."

"Don't Yes Mr. Emanuel me!"

"I'm sorry Mr. Emanuel."

"Don't I'm Sorry Mr. Emanuel me!"

"I'm very confused."

"You're goddamn right you are, kid!"

"I... I... I..."

"You don't tell Mr. Williams he has a good point. You don't decide if Mr. William's points are good. You don't decide shit, Page. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Emanuel."

"What did I just tell you!?"

"No. Um, I mean, ugh, No, Mr. Emanuel."

"You're goddamn right, Page. We don't pay to have Yes men around Mr. Williams. Is that now clear?"

"Ye...ugh... no... uh, I'll take it into consideration, Mr. Emanuel."

"There you go. No you're getting it, Page. Now go offer Mr. Williams some candy to get back in the car."