His body language suggested that he was in the business of interrupting passers by.

This was indeed the case.

The gentleman in question had a bag ten yards behind him, propped against the wall, with a single piece of art perched on top.

In my mind (since I had no interest in Humans of New York-ing this guy (and because making eye contact with people in New York is sadly an invitation to participate in their particular brand of crazy)), he was an artist with one item to sell.

This was indeed the case.

Like clockwork, I watched him engage the unfortunate soul to my right and smiled smugly as the pitch unfolded.

But I also admired the guy. He was an artist. He was in the arena, taking his blows. He was trying.

He didn’t wait until his art was good enough to land him placement in a gallery, or to have enough art to fill up a table. He created one thing and he was pounding the pavement.

I respect that.

Of course, he could have been pulling the old Rice Krispies trick…