My other trip in the way-back machine was courtesy of the cafe upstairs at Fairway, where I went to refuel after a grueling bout of PT in preparation for braving the body-slammers down below. As I was waiting, and waiting, for my perfect cheeseburger, in walks Ed Koch, accompanied only by another dodderer. He took a table by the window just like anyone else and settled in unmolested, napkin tucked into the neck of his shirt, placidly awaiting his ex-chef’s food. It was just like the old days when he was mayor and we would constantly see him out in the street, wallowing in attention, long before Rudy “made it safe.” I admit the endorphins were still pumping, but it felt sorta warm and fuzzy to find someone so recognizable moving freely at a time when the allegedly most powerful man in the world cannot go anywhere without armed guards and still has to shut down entire cities “for security.” Maybe they’re right that you are what you eat. Who could ever have imagined a hot dog in chief? (Sorry to hammer, but they’re dying while he’s lying.)