It’s a rare Saturday that I go to the park. The crowds are fierce; I have to excuse myself many times to get through the scrum taking selfies around the Strawberry Fields sign. One homeless guitarist screams at another homeless guitarist about who plays next and for how long. The regular order of weekdays has broken down. Sunbathers on their blankets and towels dot the lawns; people picnic under every tree. As I walk toward the fountain, I hear far more English than on weekdays; New Yorkers have crowded out the tourists.

The south face of the catalpa is in full bloom, while the north side is still largely showing little green berry-like buds and the occasional white floret, tinged pink in the center. White dogwood blossoms float like kites above the green leaf clusters. Rhododendrons bloom pink in the shade of the stone staircase. The azaleas are kaput.

I set up in the heat of center stage. My first contribution was 26 cents, same as yesterday. Later, when I mentioned the coincidence to friends, they pointed out that a large regular coffee at Starbucks is $2.74, putting a quarter and a penny change in more pockets than I’d realized.

“Have you got time for a hula today?” The young couple was eager, having just returned from their honeymoon on Maui. At the end of “The Hukilau Song” they returned the leis, patted their pockets and shrugged that they had come out without any money. “Don’t worry about it,” I said, draping the leis over the back of my case.

During my rendition of “My Baby Just Cares for Me,” I noticed that a woman sitting at the fountain to my right was singing along to the first verse, but got lost in the second. When we talked, she told me how much she liked the Nina Simone version released in 1958. In that recording, the second verse features Liz Taylor and Lana Turner, updated for time and gender from the original Gus Kahn lyric written for Eddie Cantor in 1930, featuring John Gilbert and Ronald Coleman. My 2015 rewrite features George Clooney and Brad Pitt.

The woman was from Argentina, in New York with her sister. Would I be willing to sing a duet with her for her daughter back home? And so we did, twice in fact, because the sister had trouble with the video recorder on her smart phone. That was worth a fiver.

A short time later, a family came by with a 3-year old who wanted to hula. The child waved his arms with a determined intensity, sucking in his lower lip in concentration. Grandpa rewarded me with a $2 bill, the first I’d received in the 8 years I’ve been busking. Now I’d been given at least one of every denomination from 1 to 100.

Adding to the chaos, the troupe of acrobats had colonized the western staircase and were whipping up the crowd with loud music from their boom box, and with clapping and chants. I ignored the commotion as I finished my set with “My Little Grass Shack.” Although tomorrow, Sunday, also promises wonderful busking weather, I’m done with weekends for a while.