Music ate her third chili dog down in the Village. She checked the time on her cracked cellphone screen. “This trick stays late. I shoulda known better,” she said to a fellow customer who submerged a chili dog in mustard. Smiling, the customer hurried out the door. “Trick, please. You not that cute.” She spotted the whistling homeless guy. He traveled around Manhattan, pushing a rusty shopping cart filled with old cassettes, vinyl records, radios, and various broken musical instruments. Rushing outside, Music pulled out a large camera from her worn messenger bag.
“Sweetie, we’re here.”
“I been stalking him for weeks. Lemme go closer.” She sat on the curb.
“Burgundy isn’t your color.” Prudence pointed at the man’s fur hat, which he paired with a baggy, wrinkled blue pinstriped suit
