I must have posted this one somewhere already, but I didn't see it... eh, whatever.

A few years ago I was riding down 7th Ave in Manhattan, approaching Penn Station from the north, a wide street (maybe four traffic lanes plus parked cars on both sides) with a slight downward slope.
Just south of Times Square I noticed a tall African gentleman striding down the middle of the street. He was elegantly dressed in a long cream colored linen robe with embroidered hems and a matching fez, and wore a serious, purposeful expression.
Cars pass in waves, depending on traffic lights, and as a bicycle I start out at the front of each wave, and eventually wind up at the back, trying to get through one last traffic light. I was just starting from a stop when I noticed the man, a little in front of me, pitching a bowling ball down the center of the street. Within seconds the roadway was full of cars, and how they dealt with the bowling ball, I don't know, but it ended up in the gutter on the other side from me. I turned and saw its owner approaching, perhaps ready for the next round; I rode away.