"I'm writing you a ticket," the cop said.

"That isn't fair," I complained. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"You're selling illegal oranges in a public place," the other cop admonished me. "That means a fine, and you're lucky we're not taking you down to the station."

"What's the matter with my oranges?" I cried despondently. Those oranges were all I had. I would be destitute without them, and what little income I could get from them. I had to convince them not to take that away from me. My family was counting on me; I couldn't let them down.

"Hmm, I dunno," said the cop wearing the black hat. He picked one of them up, peeled it and took a bite. "I don't think anything's wrong, in fact this one is pretty delicious," he admitted.

I sighed with relief. "Then you'll forget about the fine?" I asked.

"Haha! Of course not!" he said, his mouth dripping orange juice messily. "The law is the law! If we let you go without a fine, then everyone will be out here selling oranges! No one wants that!"

My heart sank. The cop finished writing the ticket and handed it to me, and my heart sank even further. I was finished.

"Let's take a few of these with us," the