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2:40-2:43 pm, 40th b/w 7th and 8th: I see a stooped man in a vomit-peach sportjacket entering Midtown Comics and I run. I can feel Frank Miller's vibe from at least a block away. I bound up the stairs and accost him and his fetching girlfriend, chat them up for thirty seconds before bolting to see
Hair. As I dart between lackadaisical tourists, I nearly collide with a lovely familiar woman and her pinocchio-nosed husband. It's Steve and Nancy Carrell!!! I so wanted to tell him how often I'd been made to watch
The 40-year-old Virgin by my straight boyfriends. He's like the male Bridget Jones.
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