In my neighborhood in Brooklyn, there are photo shoots every weekend. Even though its no longer ‘edgy’, it doesn’t stop people from posing in front of pull down metal gates, bad graffiti and on dead end streets, I should know, I live on one.

This Sunday I was walking home from the grocery store where I bought baking soda to make biscuits from scratch. Forgetting that I was missing a few other supplies, like a rolling pin, cutting board and biscuit cutter. I heard you could improvise a rolling pin with a wine bottle, but since I don’t drink I bottomed out there too. I could substitute an upside down glass for a biscuit cutter but in the end I decided to just make toast.

When I approached the corner of my street, I saw what I feared to be a Mime. He was wearing black pants and a white shirt with black horizontal stripes, the uniform of the Mime or just some Danish guy in Copenhagen. His face was in profile and he was slightly obscured by a person standing in front of him but then he turned, revealing his white-painted face in all it’s revolting glory. A wash of anger came over me. I don’t know why Mimes make me so angry. But then I saw the photographer, it was the Pilgrim.

The Pilgrim is a guy that dresses like, you guessed it, a Pilgrim. I believe he’s lived in this neighborhood longer than I have, which is over eleven years, since my friend Kim used to tell me about him when she lived here before me. He looks exactly like a Pilgrim, right out of a Thanksgiving’s Day card. The cropped black pants with white stockings, the shoes with square metal buckles, the cartoon-like black hat, even round old-fashioned glasses.

Somehow the sight of the Pilgrim photographing the Mime made it okay. It was okay that there was a Mime if he was being photographed by a Pilgrim.