Thursday, November 13, 2003

Last night I was heading home from the gym and decided to stop at the Duane Reade to get some orange juice and maybe a Detour bar (I love those things). On the way to the store, I passed by the usual street vendor with his display of $10 watches and knowing how my family loves these things as fun Christmas gifts I decided to look and see what he had.

Now, as I approached the table, these three tourists showed up and they were looking at the watches when one of them asked if he had any fake Rolexes. The two guys looked at each other and one of them wondered if one of them happened to be a cop and the other guy said that none of them could because cops wouldn't be caught dead wearing the faux Burberry (sp?) print pants that one of them had on.

Turns out though, the first guy wasn't talking about the three tourists. He was referring to me. Buzzed hair me. Me who passed for a corrections officer during the San Gennaro to a very drunk zeppole saleswoman. I looked up from their watches and noticed they were both looking at me.

"Nah, he's cool. If he's a cop, he would have said something by now," said the second guy.

"Or he wants a piece of the action," said the first.

I didn't know how to feel about that.
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