Bothersome Beauty of Pegions According to Me

The cardboard display tables of the mostly African vendors in Florence �s largest piazzas are marvels of engineering. They are designed to be light and portable, and to fold in an instant without disrupting the orderly display of fashionable sunglasses, silver cigarette lighters, or art posters. I watch these street entrepreneurs from the steps of the city�s great cathedral, Santa Maria della Fiore, as they work the roving bands of Italian schoolchildren on school holiday. It is a hard sell. The vendors line up side by side and though many sell exactly the same kinds of sunglasses or lighters or posters, they don�t seem to aggressively compete with each other; in fact, they borrow money from each other to make change, and laugh together at quiet comments I can�t hear.
For a few moments my attention to the scene strays, and when I look back the vendors and their cardboard displays have simply vanished. At first, I can�t figure out a reason for the disappearing act. Nor can I explain the street vendors� sudden return minutes later, sweeping in like the flocks of pigeons that are everywhere in these squares. Then I see the small Renault of the Florence polizia driving slowly down an adjacent street, where two officers sit stiffly in their crisp blue uniforms and white leather belts; the police seem bored, indifferent, not even remotely interested in the sudden flight their slow passage through the square inspires.
The vendors are apparently unlicensed and the police routinely attempt to flush them out, but this is clearly a half-hearted campaign. Who can blame them? The vendors are everywhere, lingering at the edge of crowds, a fraternity of friendly bandits clutching their neatly folded cardboard tables, each equipped with a convenient handle of rope and duct tape. Within seconds of the officers� departure, the vendors descend on the square again, once again unfolding their tables to which the merchandise magically adhered.
I watch this flight and return again and