So many breasts, so little time... last month I began Mai Pehn Rai with a quote from F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Why not another quote for those of you who like the literary side of BEhavior?

Ernest Hemingway loved Paris. He called himself a boulevardier. He frequented the Café des Deux Magots and the Café De Flore on the Boulevard St.-Germain. This area became known as the gathering spot for the literary, intellectual, and existential crowd of the forties and fifties. Sartre, Malraux, Hemingway, Henry Miller, and Apollinaire were all known to spend hours hanging out. You have no idea how much you might pay for a few tablespoons of coffee at these establishments, so the conversation had to be plenty good.

I don't think so... there had to be another reason.

Hemingway said this to a friend in 1950, "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast."

The Café De Flore and the Deux Magots are still the best places in Paris to hang out and watch life walk by. And that is the real kernel of truth to why that particular section of the Left Bank in Paris is so highly revered and regarded.

It is the prime spot in that wondrous city for girl watching. What 'Papa' Hemingway called 'the moveable feast' was really just his fancy way of talking about hooters on the hoof. It wasn't a lot of literate talk that made him love the place.

Yours truly experienced my own version of Hemingway's Paris right here in New York this past weekend. The Lexington Avenue IRT subway hurtles along under Lexington Avenue at great speed. When you are on this train you can not only feel the speed of the train, but also, if you're in the right seat, a feast might appear before you. I'm talking about the seat with the map of the New York City Subway System right above you. There are always visitors and new people on the trains who may not know their way, and many find the map helpful. Of course the map's print is not all that large... and if someone is in the seat, the one who needs to see the map must hold the overhead strap and lean in and over you to get closer to the map.

When the gods smile at you, the leaner is built like someone who should be a feature dancer at Flashdancers. So she leans over and the most copious cleavage, I'd seen in weeks comes into my view. Large, firm, strong breasts surging against her vee-necked tee shirt.

Reluctantly, I raise my eyes. She makes eye contact and smiles.

"Can I help you?"

"Sure," she says with a smile and a wink. "Tell me how far to Grand Central Station." If she smiles again, or inhales again, I might die right there on the IRT.

Too bad for me, it is the next stop. So within thirty seconds, the train pulls into the station, another set of world class tits, another set that will fill my dreams for the next few weeks, at least, vanishes forever.

But New York is a very big city. And there is a never-ending parade of fabulous bust-lines to see wherever you go. I stayed on the train, and minutes later, I exited at the 86th Street Station. I was headed for the T.A.M.A. Street Fair. The Third Avenue Merchants Association had been running this fair on the first Saturday in October for years. The weather is always great on this day, as summer won't go quietly into its dormant period.

Third Avenue is closed to automobile traffic from 85th down to about 68th Street, so for almost a mile you can walk through a living breathing tailgate party combined with a carnival atmosphere and mix that with a large flea market and you will get the picture. Thousands of people just out for a walk; just taking advantage of another day in Manhattan's veritable smorgasbord of delights.

You know where I was headed? After a taste of some Thai food followed by some cold Budweiser, I headed for the corner where some enterprising marketing major was now earning his daily bread by selling brassieres on the street. His mobile stall was filled with many clients all seeking those marvelous foundation garments. All sizes were represented. But after a half dozen or more D-cups and greater were all in this bra 'store' at the same time, it got kind of congested. So I headed north. I had an appointment for a hair cut at 4:00 PM.

I must ask you to take this as gospel. As good as this day had been, the best was yet to come. Depending on where you live, you may get a haircut from an "Enzo the Barber" type like Seinfeld does, or you can go to a salon, where rock music is piped in, and white wine is served, and you are pampered. The haircutters these days all seem to be from Hong Kong, or Malaysia, or even London. All of them vibrant and happy and filled with the wonderful insouciance of the young.

"Just a 20 or 30 minute wait," said the hostess. I looked at her and I was taken with her beauty and her shapeliness. She was named Marina, and when I asked, she said she was from Odessa. "Have a seat."

Surrounded by women for it was Saturday afternoon and most men were inhaling college football on television in sports bars all over the city, eventually, I was called for my shampoo, which would precede the haircut. And this became the highlight of the day. As I eased back in my chair so my hair could be washed, I became aware that the young lady who would do the shampooing was the owner of a pair of breasts that were simply enormous.

Mind shatteringly enormous! Massive, heavy, big nippled, and right there inches away. These monstrous orbs were enclosed in a huge lace bra, which was ever so evident through her tight white tee shirt.

There was something written on her tee shirt but I could not really get a handle on what it was. Breasts that big and that close make it hard to read the overall message. To get a better perspective, I needed to not be that close. Who am I kidding... I loved being that close. In fact, the closer she got to me, the better I liked it. There is nothing, absolutely nothing like watching a big breasted woman give you a shampoo. Just, simply enormous... were the words flashing continually in my mind as her breasts hovered over me.

Eventually she wrapped my head in a towel, and sent me on to my haircutter. I don't remember much at all about the actual haircut. But a half-hour later I made my way to the cashier. With tax $15.40. I slipped the cutter a nice tip, and then made my way back to the shampoo area. There she was. She smiled brightly as I made my way towards her. Finally I got to read the legend on her tee shirt. I was amazed. It said simply, "A Moveable Feast".

May your next Saturday be as thrilling as mine was, and if it isn't, just say Mai Pehn Rai...