I clutched my five nickels in my 7 year old hand as I negotiated Penrose Avenue. It had become practically a highway, which fed the congested Penrose Avenue Bridge leading to Philadelphia International Airport. It was already 92 degrees at 11:14 am and the stench of a dead rat hung in the air blended with the oil from the Gulf Refinery across the street. I took two lanes and sprinted the last lengths to The Hot Dog Cart, just as its trusted employee, Myrna, waved to me. “Hot enough for ya?”, she screamed, as I nodded and plopped my 35 cents on the counter. The facility was a makeshift building in lime green, muddied by years of smog and pollution as the never ending whir of cars passed by and whizzed into Center City. “A plain hot dog, please”, I said, Myrna with dog in hand correctly predicting my request. “How’s the flower business today?” I barked, “Fresh flowers! A dollar a bunch! Selling well!” Myrna leaned in, “tell your sister and your cousin Donna that Officer Harris is keeping an eye on them. He’s in car H-74. Hope those hare krishnas don’t come back today.” I smirked at Myrna and secretly hoped that the hare krishnas would show up. I never saw My Dad so mad before and as a 7 year old, I was really thirsty for some drama. About an hour went by, Donna and Betsy singing Dionne Warwick’s “Then Came You” together, trying their best at harmony, as the tunes floated over their little Panasonic transistor radio set to WFIL. I wiped beads of sweat from my chin as I heard the sound of a van pull up and two hare krishna dudes jumped out! They had pamphlets and flowers and assumed our corner as their van sped away. They did it again! The nerve to sell flowers, or, ask for donations, right on the corner we are obviously working. Betsy and I looked sternly into each others eyes and knew exactly what was going to happen next. My Dad shouted, “Donna! Betsy take your brother and get in the van and lock it-RIGHT NOW!” Next thing you know, Dad and Uncle Jim were right up in the hare krishnas faces, kicking dirt at them and warning them to leave, or they would regret it. They were dressed in robes and had their heads shaved except for a little tuft of hair. They just smiled and didn’t seem to see the gravity of the situation. Betsy, Donna and I watched in amazement from inside the safety of the van as Dad and Uncle Jim punched them and beat them until they ran down the highway and out of sight. A little later on, Officer Harris pulled up and asked how the day was going. We nervously looked to Dad as he sarcastically volunteered, “we’re killing it out here today! Good thing we have no competition! Keep on smiling, Officer!” I grabbed a bucket full of red carnations and handed it to my sister Betsy as we both nervously laughed under our breath. And that is the day the krishnas met Kensington. Karma is a bitch!