I remember many years ago my oldest daughter, who was about 12 at the time, had a friend who was terminally ill and had always wanted to visit NYC. I don’t think she ever ventured out of the county other than to go to a hospital in Philadelphia. I told my daughter we would take care of that wish of hers. We took the bus into the Port Authority Bus Terminal – the hairy armpit of the city. Upon disembarking the bus her first taste of NYC was a drunk passed out at the steps of the bus. She screamed thinking he was dead. We went to Times Square, shortly visited an Art Gallery as it interested her, and I had gotten tickets to the taping of the Phil Donahue show. I participated in the segment where the audience asked the guests questions, so she would get on TV... and had the audience booing me. We argued with a beggar, saw crazy people, had breakfast at a street vendor’s cart, and dinner at a swanky restaurant where the prices were large, the portions small, and the food looked like abstract art. She later told my daughter it was the best day of her life.