copper

Skipping a red light, as you do, outside Liverpool Street, Ricardo is pulled over by the traffic police. Who demand that he dismount from his mule. They ask if he knows what he's done wrong, and Ricardo confesses to his crime. The traffic police are lenient. They tell him ordinarily he'd be liable for a thrity pound fine or a suspended jail term, but if he can prove his identity they'll let him off with a caution. He says he's not too sure about his identity. They look at him as though he might have something to hide. He says it's not a question of concealment, he just believes it might have been misplaced, perhaps even yesterday when he threw out the old Sight and Sounds. They ask if he's a filmmaker. He says it may have been one of his incarnations. He's not sure. If he hadn't lost his identity he'd be able to tell them. They get quite Sherlock Holmes about the process. They deduce he might be an actor in a film he doesn't know is being made. In which case he is granted artistic license. Just this once. They write down a detailed description of his person, apparel, and mule. They ask if he'd like a copy, and he says it cannot do any harm. They tell him this kind of paperwork takes up more and more of their time. More and more of the souls they apprehend possess unstable identities. It's one of those services performed by the traffic police which no one appreciates. They send him on his way and wish him well.