Here's how it works most mornings: Cookie and I leave together and walk around the block to where the school bus stops. When it arrives, he gets on and I then proceed to the train station down the block -- usually just in time to catch the 8:12 to Grand Central.

And so it was this morning. Cookie climbed aboard his bus and I watched him take a seat by the window; I waved goodbye and started walking to the corner. The bus rolled by me and stopped at the red light, so I got to pass it again as I got to the corner. Being verbal, Cookie was engaged in animated conversation with the kid next to him so he didn't see me. I crossed Main Street. Behind me, the light changed and the bus made its turn. I looked over my shoulder and saw through the bus window a giant head -- Cookie was looking at me with that 100,000-watt smile of his, and I waved as his bus roared up Main Street.

So I got in the train with a smile on my face.

But after I got off the train I had to wonder: why does Sixth Avenue smell like olive oil? I've been noticing it for the last few days as I walk to the office. I can't really explain it. The smell disturbs me: no part of Sixth Avenue should ever smell like anything I dip bread into. I even checked the playbill at Radio City as I passed -- nope, no engagements featuring Broadway Joe. So still the odor goes unexplained.