Asher was up early -- like, nose-bleed early -- so we strollered down to the Henry Avenue honor boxes in the dark. I could find just two dimes and a nickel, so I played the who-gets-my-money this morning bit.
As I approached the boxes, in the Times box, center page and above the fold, I could barely make out the shadowy, ready-to-lunge-off-the-page profile of ... who is that? I nearly dropped my change.
John Barry examined Chuck Norris' recent fame among teenage boys (and, um, grown men), with a story set in a Largo Boston Market.
It was fun, funny and so different in a newspapers-aren't-supposed-to-do-that sort of way. And it sold at least one paper this morning; I was scared not to buy it. (They may be on to something...)
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