Humor?

Is the tree of Liberty a weeping willow?

I'm gonna post a joke; please follow suit if so inclined

Klonsky's Shoe Repair in the Bronx

Ira Kaplan, hadn't returned to the old neighborhood since he went off
to fight in Vietnam. During a business trip to New York he visits his
old neighborhood on Kotler Avenue in the Bronx.
Everything has changed over the years. Where once there was
Edelstein’s Delicatessen, there is now a McDonald’s; where
Fleischman’s Dry Cleaning (One-Hour Martinizing) used to be, a Korean
nail salon and spa now is; where Ginsberg’s Department Store was,
there is now a Gap.
Nothing is the same, except for the narrow storefront of Klonsky’s
Shoe Repair, which, dimly lit as ever, is still in business.
As Kaplan passes the shop, he recalls (such are the quirks of memory
that he does not know how) that just before he was drafted to go off
to Vietnam he had left a pair of shoes with Mr. Klonsky that he never
bothered to pick up. Could they, he wonders, possibly still be there?
A small bell tinkles as he enters the dark shop.
Mr. Klonsky, who seemed old 40 years ago, shuffles out from the back.
He is hunched over, wearing a leather apron, one eye all but closed.
“Excuse me, Mr. Klonsky,” Kaplan says, “but I used to live in this
neighborhood, and 40 years ago I left a pair of shoes with you for
repair that I never picked up. Is there any chance you might still
have them?”
Klonsky stares at him and, in his strong Eastern European accent,
asks, “Vas dey black vingtips?”
“They were indeed,” Kaplan only now recalls.
“And you vanted a halv sole, mit rubber heels?”
“Yes,” says Kaplan. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”
“And you vanted taps on the heels only?”
“Yes, yes,” says Kaplan. “Amazing! Do you still have them?”
Mr. Klonsky looks up at him, his good eye asquint, and says, “Dey’ll
be ready Vendsday.”