would you like to be in a police line up?

My friend Dan drove in from Long Island yesterday to come see me for an afternoon over his spring break. Within five minutes of parking his car, locking it and stepping onto the sidewalk along my street, he was asked by a complete stranger --

"Yo, so man, do you want to be in a police line up?"

I hadn't had a chance to say hello, and Dan was already was getting pressed into police duty.

The group of neighborhood guys who asked him had a slightly thuggish look, or, as I like to call it, 'I'm From Brooklyn and Refuse to Wear Well Fitting Pants.' (Wasn't the whole baggy pants thing out like, 5 years ago? Anyway.) They had on their baseball caps and one or two of them had freshly glazed over eyes, probably thanks to the copious amounts of marijuana a few of them smoke. I have the pleasure of smelling them and their drug of choice every time I walk by their apartment.

You have to understand that my friend is a lovely guy, and just very ... suburban. When I finally had a chance to give him a hello hug, he asked me in a slightly panicked voice, "What kind of neighborhood do you live in?!" For Dan to sound surprised -- or anything different from his usual infamous monotone we all love so much -- is a pretty big deal. So, I knew the boy had to be a little shaken up.

Fifteen minutes later, after a pit stop in my apartment, we were back outside again and bumped into the same crowd of guys, who were still attempting to press hapless souls into police line up duty. Apparently there was a promise of cash moneys, always a good incentive in this part of New York, since no one ever has any. However, how much they were offering to pay probably was no match to the question of 'What Happens If You Get Chosen Out of the Line Up -- And Aren't Guilty?'

Scary, scary.