New York City, 30 years ago

When I was in college, I dated a guy from Brooklyn. He was a street peddler, selling mostly sterling jewelry. Peddling is, and was, restricted to certain areas. However, the prime vending spots, like the Wall St. areas at lunch time, were illegal. The worst that would happen if you were nabbed was a ticket. Errol had a whole stack of them in the glove compartment of his VW Bug. They would only pose a problem if you had to go to court and all those tickets came to light.
Errol's roommate, Frankie, was like the Artful Dodger to me. We would stand on the sidewalk close to each other. The guys were always on the watch for an unmarked NYPD van coming down the block. At that point you would close up your display case, gather your things, and run away. I can remember looking to my right and hearing someone say "Here they come !", then l ooking to my left and Frankie was nowhere to be seen. When I was with Errol, his business was expanded, with a wagon of wool scarves ($5 each, 2 for $9) attached to his primary equipment. My job was to sell scarves, and at the moment of escape, hold on to the wagon from the rear and help steer us to safety.
That's what I remember most from my first visit to New York. That, and "Stop looking up at the buildings. You look like a tourist."