No one notices Bruce Springsteen.
He makes no effort to hide—black T-shirt, blue jeans, Wayfarer sunglasses, honky-tonk cowboy boots—but for a few minutes, the most famous son of the Jersey Shore achieves a kind of anonymity, even in the one place his sudden appearance seems most plausible: the Asbury Park boardwalk. Passing Madam Marie’s, the fortune teller immortalized in his 1973 ballad “4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy),” I suggest that if people look for him anywhere, it’s here. Springsteen chuckles, recalling a T-shirt sold in local shops: I HEARD BRUCE MIGHT SHOW UP.
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