This morning, as I waited for the walk signal at a busy intersection in Harvard Square, I glimpsed at the pedestrians waiting on the other side, and I saw Bono. “That couldn’t be–” I thought. “He’s too short.” Still, he had the look down pat: black cowboy hat, yellow frog-goggle glasses, leather jacket, well-fitting jeans. As we stood there for 30 seconds, waiting for the light to change, I weighed whether he was the genuine article. “No way he doesn’t walk around without an entourage,” I concluded.