“Anything can happen to anyone at any time.”

— The Big Short

I remember being played in prison. The D.A. who had prosecuted me for writing about the corruption in his office, known as a “criminal enterprise” after they finally got him for a variation on thievery – you know, like what we see every day in the White House?

The guy who was playing me was from Senegal and had a great rap. Apparently, according to him, diamonds and small pieces of gold lay on the ground calling out to be picked up. When I finally got the gist of what he wanted from me it was simple. He’d supply the diamonds and have them installed in cheap watches. All I had to do was get them through Customs. I said I’d think about — so I didn’t get a sudden razor slice across my throat. He was in for murder.

I’ve been getting those feelings as I waltze down Canal Street lately where there isn’t much room for pedestrians who aren’t shopping for expensive knock-offs, handbags, wallets and Rolex watches. I wanted a Rolex which ranged in price from $40 to $120 depending upon how well I was dressed and whether I looked like a cop.

Apparently, D.O.T is clueless about the wisdom of widening the sidewalks for these entrepeneurs but the Katzenjammer kids neve were exactly brilliant — even when they worked for Bloomberg and got their degree from Harvard. After all, they don ‘t shop on Canal Street. No one from around here does either since residents know it’s all shit.

What’s new though, is where these characters sleep and shop and store their goods.

That would be the Canal Street Post Office, folks. The new homeless contingent and napping location — where they take a time-out, jabber in some other language, and hide stuff — is where the Post Office boxes are located at the Canal Street Station — you know, where civility died 50 years ago.

Be forwarned. Safety is in numbers. But not. necessarily for you.