Peggy Noonan’s body may be in Manhattan, and her soul may be in Ronald Reagan’s coffin—but her mind, now and forever, is in Brooklyn, at a street fair she went to a few years back.
The Way We Live Now: Hobo hamboning it up with a mouth harp harmonica happy hopeless hoe-down tune-playing, without a care in the world or enough lint in our pocket to buy a zeppole, not that we could anyhow.