A thin, talkative man wearing a puffy blue winter jacket and black hoodie, who gives his name only as Lamar, is pacing outside the Barclays Center looking for a loner, someone who needs just a single ticket. He spots his man, a guy nervously milling around outside, hands in his pockets looking to make a deal, and makes his approach.
“Tickets?” he asks.
He tells the customer the seats he has available and, once the deal is struck, cash exchanges hands. It’s a scene played out in front of the rusty new arena nearly every night of the week.
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