A Routine Call
It was almost noon when a patrol car pulled up to a busy intersection downtown. The call was routine — an unlicensed street vendor reported outside a convenience store.
Officer Jake Morgan stepped out first. What he saw didn’t look like trouble at all — just a frail elderly woman sitting on a milk crate beside a wooden box filled with tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots arranged with care. Her cardigan was worn thin, her shoes scuffed.
The woman nodded, eyes cast down. “Yes, officer. But my boy needs medicine. I grew these in my garden. I’m not hurting anyone.”
Jake’s supervisor, Sergeant Daniel Ruiz, joined him. The law was clear — street vending without a license was prohibited. But standing there, looking at her trembling hands and humble setup, it was hard to see her as anything but a struggling mother trying to get by.
“Look,” Ruiz said softly, “we’re not here to make your life harder. Just pack up for today, all right? Try to sell somewhere else.”
The woman exhaled shakily, almost relieved. “Thank you, officers,” she murmured. “You’re very kind.”
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