This morning, as Kina was mourning the absence of her beloved Pigeon Friend, I distracted her by pointing out a guy walking his dog, wearing a fleece top and gym shorts. This kind of behavior feels deeply un-New-York to me—a sort of showiness that is more at home in Maine (where my cousin Kirk is likely wearing shorts right now) or Wisconsin (where I understand it is a statutory obligation to wear shorts until mid-January) than on the streets of Brooklyn. In this house, we protect our knees from the chilly winds of winter, and we berate those who wear their hypothermia on their sleeves. I opened the window for Kina so that she could address him directly, and her voice rang out across the neighborhood as she hounded him off our block. Take those lake-effect knees back home and put some pants on, man. Even the pigeons are embarrassed for you.