“Sir,” the officer repeated. “You got ID? You gotta have ID to sell here.”
The man continued talking in an English accent about the benefits of the peeler he was using to nude up the potato. It was as if the police officer was nowhere to be seen.
“Sir,’ the officer repeated. It was obvious he was irritated, but did not want to call attention to himself, to the interaction, especially not with all the other people around. It was a crisply sunny Saturday at the Union Square Greenmarket, and the place was crawling with foodies interesting in hearing the brown-suited man prattle on about the peeler.
“Sir, I need to see…”
“That was hilarious,” I said. “Did you see that?”
“See what?” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “Oh, that guy? I just figured he was another crazy person. They’re all over New York.”
Behind us, the English man continued his spiel about the peeler. I glanced back one last time and saw someone hand him a $5 bill. He took it and handed them a peeler in exchange, without even missing a beat in his sales pitch.