New Yorker contributors have at all times been an incorrigible group of eavesdroppers. Contemplate, as an example, the snippets of collected dialogue that had been as soon as revealed within the Discuss of the City part. From December, 1949, on the Metropolitan Opera Home: “I’m undoubtedly giving up finger bowls for the length.” Or, from April, 1963, at an “outlying” Bloomingdale’s: “I need to say that after three years of study he’s not so fussy about having his yolks proper in the course of his fried eggs any extra.” After too many months cooped up with the looping soundtracks of our personal ideas, we felt that it was time to as soon as once more dispatch a handful of our gumshoe journalists—this time, cartoonists—to pay attention to their fellow metropolis dwellers. They skulked round Grand Central Station, jogged by Prospect Park, sidled as much as patrons of a vegan café, prowled the Central Park Zoo, and surreptitiously sipped with barflies. Right here’s what they heard.