So, what if Mythical creatures were real and emigrated to NYC in the1930s?
"Sir," said the jittery homeless man on the train. He was clad in a filthy dark jacket, had a an aged and ragged-edged ski cap on, and an uneven, grey-sprinkled beard. He was missing some teeth and he smelled like piss and liquor. Oh, no wonder - he had a thing of vodka in a brown paper bag. "Sir, can you..." "Sorry, I don't have anything." I said. He turned to the Goblin next to me, who helpfully held out Goblin-Gold with a big, toothy smile. That is, he gave him a little black, silk baggy of worms, beetles and rocks, which to his people were currency. I looked down and away to smirk, shaking my head. Poor Goblins - they hadn't figured out how to deal with the Homeless yet. The man begrudgingly accepted the useless sack, probably planning on emptying it out and selling it if it wasn't too damaged. Or, hey, maybe he'd eat the bugs. I dunno how desperate he was. He walked on while the Goblin crossed his legs and continued to hum his ...