The police was here tonight

The police was here tonight. Somebody was killed two weeks ago. A jewelry store owner. He used to sell diamonds and pearls on Madison Avenue, a block from where my studio is. A witness produced a spoken portrait of an ethnic man-–probably black or Hispanic-- wearing a winter hat and sunglasses, and a partial mask, a god damned stereotype. The sketch was put in the lobby of my building and when I saw it looked so much like anybody black or Hispanic, with a hat and sunglasses, that I thought people would inevitably mistake me as the killer.

So the first thing to do was not go up and down Madison Avenue for a couple of weeks. But I had to go to the bank and the nearest Citibank branch is also a few blocks away. So I went. Maybe somebody called the police. Maybe the cops are just questioning everybody in the neighborhood. In any case they knocked at my door; and I opened it.

When I saw the first cop I thought it was the architect that came twice before to do an appraisal of my studio, he was white, the second officer was black; I guess it is very difficult not to think in stereotypes. I told them to come inside. They asked me what I was doing the day of the crime. “I don’t remember, when was it?” –“Last Wednesday, at noon”—“I was in classes”. Then I tried to produce a copy of my class schedule. “It is not necessary”, one of them said. Then, they left.

I went walking around the block after. Most of the posters showing a picture of the murderer and reward for information conducing to his capture had been either torn or taken away altogether. I suppose people who feel they could be erroneously classified as potential criminals are as scared and suspicious as I‘m.