Um. I was thisclose to Bono tonight. No, really. So: Kat and Cherise and I are standing outside Otto after an A-plus tuck-in (Fifth Avenue at East Eighth, run, do not walk) involving truffles in honey, some sort of stewed apricot thing, very good anchovies, and pistachio, hazelnut stracciatella, and milk chocolate gelati, when Cherise goes, “Oh, look, there’s Bono.” So I turn, y’know, as you will, thinking, Eh, he’s walking across the street, whatever, and, well, well, there he is, directly behind me. Ah-so! So with as much élan as I can gather having now exposed myself as a total stargazer, I turn back round to continue the conversation with the girls. I mean, let’s be real, it wasn’t Bowie or anything. But then as Bono’s going into the restaurant with his peeps, I swear this happened—well, I swear we think this happened-—he turns toward us and says “Thank you.” Wha-haaa? We’re not sure what he was thanking us for, maybe for recognizing him in his stubble and sunglasses? Cherise’s hypothesis is, maybe he thought we said, “We love you, Bono!” Hngh.