There was nothing more that could be done other than screaming the word "TOURIST!" to make the family of four look more like tourists in the big city. Saving money by parking outside the city, the two adult and the preteen daughter and son had to ride a subway into the heart of New York while carrying their overstuffed, frame backpacks. Dad trying to keep his cool. Mom consulting a map. Daughter ogling everyone in the car. Son playing it tough even though he clutched his pack whenever the lights flickered.
Upon reaching the surface, the family made an unfortunate turn left seeing as their hotel was to the right. Like ducklings crossing a freeway, they followed Dad at a brisk pace while Mom made a weak effort to point the other way. The street began looking worse and worse, and the family felt like children in a fairy tale wandering too deeply into the forbidden woods. Their packs became even heavier with the stares of native New Yorkers. TOURIST! TOURIST! TOURIST!
The kids knew better than to say anything when their father and mother abruptly turned back and marched them the other way. By now, the family of four had condensed, parents' hands guiding, eyes darting. The daughter would always remember seeing a man walking towards them, his coat open enough to see glittering necklaces. As he neared, she could hear his accented voice repeating in a drone, "Gold chains, gold chains for sale. Gold chains, gold chains for sale."
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