s far as works of art go, this one was technically crude: an unlawful doodle of a robot in blue ink, one metallic arm held up as if saying hello He resided on the side of a fire department call bor somewhere on the downtown end of Lexington Avenue-about a foot tall. with a hasty, crooked smile and a pair of sleepy eyes that suggested he might be stoned. For years I saw him almost daily as I made my way around the neighborhood. Il lived in the area then. And, everyday, without faiL he would dutifully greet me with a wave of his wrench-shaped hand. There were days I felt compelled to wave back.