2nd: The First Ever Serialized Adventures of You! 1.2

“Oh. Oh. Well. I’ll see you around.” You’re amazed at the speed with which she disappears through the thick crowd. You sigh and return your attention to the only other interesting thing on the car. You slowly make your way down the car and to its opposite side, hand jammed in your pocket and a death grip on your wallet.
“Has anyone ever asked you to give Mandy Patinkin his face back?”
The man looks at you with the same vague, impersonal distaste with which he regards empty space. “No.” He tells you. “Most people just ask me if I am Mandy Patinkin.”
“Would it be better if I asked that?” You just don’t know when to quit, do you?
“No.” he says with slight impatience.
“No it wouldn’t be better or no you aren’t Mandy Patinkin?”
“Either.” He grumbles at you. “Both. Look, just leave me alone, okay?”
The car arrives in Grand Central and you get out, the sudden rise in temperature attacking your lungs. You’re a busy man. You have places to go and things to do, but here you are taking a detour to pick up your hyperactive hillbilly cousin. He’s always whining that he never gets to go anywhere or do anything, that his parents keep him on too tight a leash. You’ve tried to explain to him that they do this because he’s an idiot and if they didn’t do it, he’d run off behind their backs and probably end up in a ditch somewhere.
Sure enough, they took a vacation for their 20th anniversary and the stupid shit decided to wreck your day by calling to tell you he’s at the station and wants you to show him around town. As if you have all the time in the world, or as if you’re a goddamned tour guide.
As you lever your way through the crowds using your beat up messenger bag, an odd sound floats to your ears. It sounds like a high tempo blues piece and you find yourself slowing as you approach the musician who sits just outside the main concourse playing his acoustic-electric hybrid with more enthusiasm than skill. He’s no great player, but you find yourself increasingly interested in what he’s doing. The song ends and he launches into a psychedelic rock version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow from the Wizard of Oz movie. You decide to make your cousin sweat a little.
You sway slowly to the music until it ends. The guitarist opens his eyes and looks at you expectantly.
“What do people usually give you for a performance?” You’re thinking you might need to resort to busking yourself soon, and your stupid cousin certainly isn’t helping the chances of getting the job you’re supposed to be interviewing for this afternoon.
The guitarist looks at you for a moment and shrugs. “Whatever they feel the performance was worth, I guess.”
“So if I thought it was worth two fifty-,”
“Just toss it in, man.” The guitarist seems pretty cheerful as he gestures to the open case in front of him. You realize that he thinks you’re discussing paying him specifically rather than discussing matters of protocol. Well shit.
“I think I’ve only got a five.” You say, but you don’t walk away fast enough.
“Fives are fine with me.” He tells you. You turn and say the first thing that comes to your mind.
“Do you have change?” The man looks at you in confusion, then sighs. He reaches into his wallet and pulls two singles, then scoops out two quarters from his guitar case and holds them out. The bastard called your bluff. Grunting, you snatch the money from his hand and slap a five in its place. So much for lunch.