TIM WALKS HOME at the witching hour, a haloed moon the only witness until a flashing police cruiser spotlights him up against an alley wall, no crime, no record, the only probable cause: the side of town, economic station.
— Where are you heading at this hour ?
— Why is the time relevant? Home.
— Let me see your I.D.
— I don’t have one.
— [sarcastically] You don’t have an I.D. ?
— [sarcastically back] This is America; I don’t have to carry papers.
— All right smartass, turn around, I’m arresting you for belligerence.
The court fines him accordingly a few days later. Cha-Ching ! Justice.