I was walking down Varick around midday when I sensed something unusual in the vicinity. I looked up to find a man stopped in the middle of the street, in the crosswalk but not moving, not coming or going. It’s unusual to be motionless in the city. You notice. It don’t seem right. In the street it’s downright alarming. An arc of yellow piss streamed from the man’s penis and splashed into the intersection. He seemed serene, unbothered. Unhurried. A street character of course, drunk maybe, but not disheveled. Not obviously insane. He just stood there holding his dick on King Street like he was standing at a urinal. After I passed by I looked over my shoulder to find a young man berating him with a torrent of insults and reproaches to which he didn’t react in the least.