She was ten. The mark was a hedge fund manager from Buffalo who’d parked his Tesla over two handicapped spots. Peg peeled the fake citation from her notebook, slapped it under his wiper, and watched him curse the sky for a full three minutes before driving off in a huff. Her mother, ever the accountant, had sighed. “That’s fraud, peanut.”
“You could’ve just taken the bike,” said the cop, Officer Griswold, a man whose mustache had more authority than he did. buffaloed 2019
“You’re insane,” said Officer Griswold, watching her count cash on a park bench. She was ten
Peg laughed. It was a sharp, percussive sound, like a pinball hitting a bumper. “I don’t get buffaloed. I do the buffaloing.” slapped it under his wiper