I step onto a 2 train and take a seat directly across from a young woman sitting by herself. She’s reading a book, and given her youth, I assume this implies that she’s a student. At some point my attention drifts to the corner of the car, where I notice a young Caucasian man dressed in a suit and overcoat deep in conversation with an older Black woman. I catch snippets of what he’s saying: ‘So that’s it then, we can meet at Wall Street tomorrow? Maybe around ten? Yes, I’ll be there for sure…’ He seems to be writing down notes as he’s speaking. For some reason – perhaps his outfit and manner of speaking – I take him to be a religious proselytizer strong-arming a church visit. The woman gets up and leaves at the next station; the man gets up too, but it’s not to leave – it’s to take the empty seat next to the young woman across from me. He turns to her. ‘Hi there. You been in New York long?’ I cringe, look away – but I can still hear the conversation. ‘I’ve been in New York ten years myself,’ he continues, ‘I’m an entertainer – well, a singer-songwriter really. I can play any instrument, sing any kind of song. I perform at parties, weddings, that sort of thing. Here, let me give you my card. You should think about hiring me if you’re planning anything special. Hey, you could even write the words and I’ll write a tune to accompany the lyrics!’ I’m astounded at his chutzpah, but also profoundly annoyed. What gives him the right? His manner is cocky, even glib. And yet he’s approaching random strangers on the subway with the far-fetched hope one of them will hire him to perform at their anniversary, wedding, or son’s bar mitzvah? After he’s finished his pitch the young woman goes back to her book, and the man busies himself with his odd note taking. Is he writing a song for his next engagement? I stare at the floor and count the minutes until my stop.