When the World Is Your Bathroom.

Tommy did not go pee-pee at Julia's office. He didn't have to go then and he didn't have to go at 11:30 a.m. on a recent Thursday, when a woman called Mommy asked him. Tommy romped around on a manicured trapezoid of grass in Madison Square Park, across from the Metropolitan Life Building. He whipped his blond head and yardstick-height body into somersaults and handstands, he jumped and rolled and skipped. He did not have to go to the bathroom. I was sitting outside the green expanse, on a bench, with a container of unwashed blueberries. The man next to me was reciting Hamlet, to no one in particular. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]