He stands in the middle of the train platform. The wave of people wash past him hurriedly as his digits pirouette across a stage of guitar strings. She walks through the cars of the "2" train hunched over like Quasimodo in the bell tower under the strain of her large backpack; "Batteries, one dollar", she announces as she displays the black cylinders with the copper trims. The old man at the Times Square station stamps his foot and sways to the tune of his saxophone while the leather case collects his earnings.
     Young high school students lug around brown and yellow boxes with just M&M Peanuts in an effort to raise money for their basketball team. Another group of pre-pubescent children break-dance, pop-block, Harlem shake and back flip for that buck. Homeless men sell dirty newspapers for a dime if
you have one. One man on the "A" train tells the same jokes about his fat wife's belly for a quarter. A Salsero dances with a stuffed pillow partner who shakes her booty better than many real women. Some shine shoes, let you yell at them, cry, ride imaginary horses. Others just beg.
     But they are trying hard to make that buck. A piece of green paper, crisp, wrinkled, dirty, slightly torn; rusty pennies and dusty dimes. These things are powerful enough to make people jump through hoops, or dance or play instruments. They do just about anything in New York City subways to make that buck.
 

Johanna Torres was an English minor at CUNY.  She currently freelances and is seeking to obtain her MFA in creative writing.