(NYT) — In his most trying moments, when the winter winds and the summer storms bore down with unforgiving intensity, the Senegalese street vendor would gaze across the street at Bloomingdale’s and allow himself a fantasy: his own concession inside its gilded doors.
“I would wish they could give me a spot inside to put my stuff, especially when it was raining or it was too cold or too hot,” the vendor, Cheikh Fall, recalled, chuckling at the audacity of the idea.
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