There were three people on Pier 62/63, spaced out across the row of picnic tables at the foot of the pier. The man at the far end played “Making Whoopie” on a clarinet. In the middle, a man wearing a sport coat and a beret leaned back and watched the mountains, then stood abruptly, jogged out to the middle of the pier and circled back. I think I was doing nothing – only holding down my end of the pier. The clarinet player played another song, and the man in the beret jumped up again and ran another half-lap.