I am a Paul Simon fan. Big-time. I’m not sure it’s reciprocated. It went like this. It was the late 80s. It was New York. And I had just moved into a beautiful building on Central Park West. I was heading up the elevator with my brilliant five-year-old daughter. (If I were allowed to write about her, I would tell you just how brilliant she is.) The doors opened, and he got on.
I remember the Bridge Over Troubled Water special. This made me cry.