The man stands beside the torso of a mannequin, the arms of which are covered with watches. He holds one out to you. “Check it out.” If you take it, you’ll feel committed. But you don’t want to be rude. You take the watch and examine it.

“How do I know it’s real?”

“How do you know anything’s real? Says Cartier right there on the face, right? Looks real. Feels real. So what’s to know? Forty bucks. How can you lose?”

It appears authentic. Slim, rectangular face, regal roman numerals, sapphire-tipped winding knob. The band feels like good leather. But if it’s real, it’s probably hot. And if it isn’t hot it can’t be real.

“Thirty-five bucks to you. My cost.”

“How come so cheap?”

“Low overhead.”

You haven’t owned a watch in years. Knowing the time at any given moment might be a good first step toward organizing the slippery flux of your life. You’ve never been able to see yourself as the digital kind of guy. But you could use a little Cartier in your act. It looks real, even if it isn’t, and it tells time. What the hell.

“Thirty dollars,” the man says.

“I’ll buy it.”

“At that price you ain’t buying it. You’re stealing it.”