Of Bears and Penguins

I saw a drug deal the other day.

I saw a drug deal on a corner near my school the other day.

This is what happened:
On a corner in front of a liquor store with a plyboard sign a stooped shoulder man, who looked old but was probably not more than 40, stood with his hand slightly inside his tan jacket. I believe he had a mustache. He wore a baseball cap. He stood facing the street, not exactly at the corner, and not as one who was looking to cross. He stood stiffly in an awkward place on the corner. Across the street came a young man, probably not more than 20, who walked purposefully and did not look nervous. I saw the old man draw a wad of bills from inside his jacket, just barely saw it, before his hand concealed it again.

As the young man got closer, the old man seemed to grow more anxious. It seemed like his muscles tensed up, that he grew more intent in the way he stood. The young man did not go directly to him, but to the side as if he did not see the old man at all, and then he stepped behind him and said something. The old man kept facing forward, and only inclined his head a little to the young man. I saw him draw out his hand, I saw the young man step slightly in front of him, so that whatever was to happen was shielded by their bodies.

Then the traffic light changed to green. I drove forward and did not see the end of the deal. Did not watch the young man return to his post, probably across the street, did not watch the old man walk off with his purchase. All of that happened in the cycle of a traffic light, and it was completely mundane. Business as usual, another day in Baltimore.