Bao, as his co-workers call him, is Cuban, looks to be in his mid 50s, and for the past month he’s been selling 9/11 souvenirs on the streets of Lower Manhattan. It’s tough work. Constantly hassled by police and shoved aside by irritable office types hurrying to work, he has to hope he can cadge the odd tourist out of the wandering droves that have come to gawk at Ground Zero and at the construction underway on the new World Trade Center.
Bao’s hustle is the same deployed by all his colleagues in the area, the local variant on the old hard sell: push one of his armful of limited-edition tribute booklets under the nose of a passerby, and then point to the rising spire of 1 World Trade just across Church Street.
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