Billy was as interested in the proceedings as you might hope, watching people zip by in golf carts and argue with each other across great distances. He would push the chair forward and then coast for a ways, smiling around, obviously entertained by the scene. Most people just went around the chair, and Billy didn't have to say 'excuse me' or wake anybody up from their cellphone conversation to prevent a collision. There was nothing fake about Billy. Never had been, really. It was one of his better qualities.
"Man, you think I got a third hand?" But Billy was laughing, grinning past him at the rows of tourist who were staring hard at them both and talking excitedly as they tried to identify Vince, who looked more the angry Bruckheimer than the guy in the wheelchair. Billy found that a great many people just focused on his legs, trying to find what was wrong with them, rather than his face. There were a handful of people that frowned at him with recognition, however: a teenage girl doing her damndest to look bored, a pair of college kids, a young woman with a nice camera, and a young couple obviously on honeymoon. Nobody shouted his name, however. They frowned, blinked in cautious recognition, stared to make sure it was true, and (as the car pulled away, over their shoulders) goggled, as if they couldn't believe it was true.
Billy turned his head away, casual, and looked at the 'Central Perk' facade. "It all looks really familiar, but I can't figure out where I've seen it."