My fingers felt grimier each time I rubbed the dollar bills together. The beautiful toy stared at me, a small wind-up bicycle with an evil little price tag that had a curly dollar sign and sloppy number three.

I was a dollar short, and I needed that toy. Without hesitation I directed myself to the busy New York sidewalk and looked for dropped change. Just one quarter? Not even a penny.

With hesitation to accept defeat, I decided to go ask Mother to spare her poor son a measly dollar. Before I pursued this new mission, I turned my head for one last glance at the toy when I found myself staring at the face of a child—a child who happened to be on the other side of the glass. The boy wrapped long fingers around my toy, smiled at me evilly, and waltzed away towards the cash register. All of my wishes fizzled as he handed the woman behind the desk three dollars, silky smooth.

I turned away and suppressed a sob, trying to contain my anger as the boy exited the store, waltzing right past me. But as my eyes trailed the bobbing of his round head I was distracted by something much more enticing.

Something I could afford.

The hotdog stand only got closer as I pulled my money out of my pocket. What a deal! I would have a quarter left over and a hotdog in the style of New York. Who needs toys anyways?