The naked cowboy is a fixture in Times Square, strumming on his guitar, strutting in his tidy whities. After years of passing by this man from across Broadway, I decided it was time to cross the street, and come a little closer. I ushered my flock of three pre-teen girls on green, finally arriving at Naked Cowboy Island, that little bit of safe ground where Broadway and Seventh converge at 45th St. It was a very hot day. “Can we take a picture?” I asked. I handed the camera to my daughter. The Naked Cowboy pulled me to him. “Oh gee,” I thought. My oldest daughter was astonished and a little grossed out. “Take the picture already honey!” Flash! I tucked $2 into his guitar and was gone.
