Have you got a quarter?

The Q train goes over the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan. Manhattan is full of strange old retail and residential buildings, jumbled together. You cross from 1st Avenue to Avenue A, entering Alphabet City, and back again. Steam pours out of tall, stripey towers. My fingers are cold even in gloves. It's bright but freezing on Madison. The latte in the cupcake cafe which sells red velvet cake, suprise economic hit of NYC. The Guggenheim has an exhibition of futurist and classical inspired art of the inter-war, fascist years, don't look down, look at the sturdy Picasso on the rounded walls. The kiosks sells cheap coffee and pretzls with salt chrystals that look like snow. My mind walks further than my feet. The dusty Russian souvenir shop on 14th street, I try to buy a blue and white ceramic rabbit and he suggests 45 dollars. Rows of plastic frames with no lenses, strips of village lace. Pigeons and sparrows everywhere. Christmas market on Union Square selling machine knitted panda hats. 'I'm cold'. 'Help me out'. 'Have you got a quarter?'