In line at the grocery I wait for a trio of preteens (two girls and one boy) to buy a pack of gum. One of the girls pulls out a credit card to complete the transaction. This prompts a slew of questions in my head: is it her card, or does it belong to a parent? Does a cashier permit her to use her parent’s card and fake her signature? At what age does one begin banking in NYC? Does the cashier know the girl and her friends, and thus allow an unorthodox transaction? The group leaves and the young woman in front of me places her six-pack of beer on the counter. As the cashier rings up her purchase I glance out the front entrance where I see the panhandler who habitually parks his wheelchair in front of this store. He hits up the exiting preteens for ‘a little help’. To my surprise, the girl who’s just paid by credit card stops, opens her wallet and hands the panhandler a dollar bill. She smiles shyly, then rejoins her friends, waiting for her a few feet away. But: why didn’t she use the dollar to buy the gum? Meanwhile, the woman in front of me has grabbed her six-pack and turned to leave. I do a double-take: she looks no more than sixteen, and it’s clear that she hasn’t been carded. Now I’m confused. I step up to the register with my coffee. I find myself examining the cashier, whom I’ve seen often at this time of evening: could it be that this fresh-faced young man, with his sparse mustache and smooth skin, is himself a teenager?