It was a not-especially-balmy 49 degrees (the ground still slick with rain) when he appeared at the top of the stairs, preceded by security detail and, of course, Michelle. Diners at Upland, the California-inflected brasserie in Flatiron, would have a story they could tell their great-grandkids: about the day they saw President Obama — gracious, handsome, tieless — while taking forkfuls of little-gem salad. The appearance was just one stopover on Obama’s victory lap through New York, in which the former president demonstrated his adjustment to normal personhood (or as normal as one can be while lunching with Bono). And like that, with a smile and wave, he was gone. Did we imagine him? Did he say hello to us? Did you see how good he looked?
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