1. Back in May, at around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, a man stopped me on a busy street in the Financial District of New York City. We were under blue scaffolding, partially shaded from the bright, sunny day. He motioned for me to take my headphones out of my ears—a Strokes song was playing—and after I did, he said in a low tone, "Give me your phone and your wallet."
2. I smiled. I tried to move out of his way. He got into my way again.
3. I asked, "Are you joking?"
4. He poked me in my side. I looked down and saw the barrel [...]
I moved to New York City, and I needed to make money. I wasn’t having luck getting a job. It's a common tale.
My solution was to grab my typewriter that I bought at a yard sale for 10 dollars and bring it to a park. I’d write stories for people, on the spot—I wouldn’t set a price. People could pay me whatever they wanted. I knew that I had the gift of writing creatively, very quickly, and my anachronistic typewriter (and explanatory sign) would be enough to catch the eye of passersby. Someone might want something specific; they might just want a story straight from my imagination. I [...]