The tile on the wall behind him pointed to the Broadway line, and the sign taped to the table in front of him read "pick a subject - and price - get a poem."
I pulled a folded five from my wallet. He looked at me and asked without speaking. "Let's go with hunger," I said.
He turned toward the blank page wrapped around the typewriter's platen, and he began.
He typed with thin dark fingers sticking through light fingerless gloves. I stood watching as paper grocery bag handles pressed into my palms.
He wrote to the end of the page and removed a black pen from his coat. He read the words, marked two changes, and took a picture of his completed work with his phone. He handed me the poem.
At the bottom of the page was a name.
"Are you Lynn?" I asked. He nodded yes. I extended my hand. I thanked him and told him that I was happy whenever I saw him there. He smiled a closed-lip smile and nodded.
When I got home, I read the poem, pinned it to my fridge, and visited the web address below his name. I learned that Lynn averages $700 a week and significant press writing poetry for those curious enough to pay.
If you're curious to read: http://lynngentry.com