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2008-10-07 - 1:50 p.m. Harry Harry is one of my favorite neighborhood characters. He reminds me of an elderly grouchy W@@dy-Allen type. I often see him walking towards the Senior Citizen Center, and I know I'm in for some entertaining banter. This weekend I was heading out for fish and chips at a local pub, and there he was, just passing my front stoop. He started with a barrage of questions: "Where's your dog? What's going on with your building? Is there a lot of noise? They make a lot of noise. And I don't see you with your big dog." I tell him I still walk the dog, mostly at night. "Harry, new jacket?" I say. It's a stiff, plastic looking mustard-colored number from the 60's. "No, old one. Have it for ye-e-e-rze now. Nah, bring it out now and then. Y'know." I reach out to shake his hand goodbye. "What? The shake your hand thing? Dopey." He turns to walk away. "OK," I say, "Just you have a good night." "Oh, alright, you too."