Truth

Walking along Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn on this glorious autumn afternoon, we were overtaken by a desperate and temperamental herb dealer, wobbling his way down the sidewalk on a child's ten-speed bike. Fifth is not particularly prime territory for dealing -- at first we didn't know what this man riding lethargically behind us could have been on about. Finally, he rode right up beside us. He was balding and had an old-fashioned brushy moustache. “I got my last bag of reefer,” he hissed at us. “One last dime bag. You want it? You smoke?”

We shook our heads and said no -- meaning that we didn’t want his wares, not addressing that last question. But he thought we were trying to play the innocents. He pulled away and shot back with an angry rejoinder: “BUT YOU DID IN COLLEGE!” He pushed on ahead then, weaving through the crowd with what looked to be wisps of steam coming out of his ears.