A million lights, they flicker there -- a million hearts beat quicker there!

So I told the cabbie, "44th and Broadway." Hey, I haven't been in Manhattan since 1979. He drove through traffic like Sebastian Loeb in a bomber-stock circle track race (I found myself wanting to say "Left five over manhole, tightens into right three after bus, double caution into right two over construction plate" with a Welsh accent...). He pulled up to the curb, I paid him, climbed out... and this is what I saw.

I headed from there to 246 W. 44th, the St. James Theater, to see Mel Brooks' "The Producers." I had a spare night in Manhattan and decided whatthehell, let's do what it takes, so I plunked down the $120 and bought a front-row seat.

It was probably the best night I've ever spent in the theater, at least on that side of the proscenium. (I'm getting to the point where I'm ready to add "theater" to the list of things -- including racing, music, and sex -- that are more fun to do myself than to watch others do, no matter how much more talented or better-paid they may be...)

Anyway, Broadway is absolute magic, and Times Square is the heart of the Greatest City In The World. (I'll have to come up with other superlatives for London, Paris and Rome, but New York is up there.)