It's around lunchtime in New York on a gorgeous day in May. I'm dawdling along on lower Broadway, heading towards Trinity Church, doing some street photography. About a block south of the church I see a black stretch limo with dark tinted windows idling at the curb. I wonder what Wall St. potentate, what high roller, the car is waiting for, when a guy in a dark gray suit comes hurtling out of an office building and nearly bowls me over as his chauffeur moves up to meet him. The man in a hurry brushes my elbow with a get-out-of-the-way attitude. I step back and mutter, "Hey! Watch where you're going!" He turns and says, "I wouldn't be here if I had...." He smiles and flashes a V sign, gets into the limo with the help of an aide, secret service I suppose, and heads into traffic. "Hey, man! You know who that is?" I ask a black dude in his twenties coming towards me. "Sure, we see him around here all the time."
camera in hand
not quick enough
on the draw
Did I say he said anything to me? Embroidery. Pure fiction.
But if he had knocked me down, could I have sued the ex-POTUS?
Who would be my witness?
the candid shot