There's no subway system in the world like the one in New York City. It's filthy, constantly under construction, and an adventure in of itself. Working in gig world means multiple rides every day. You never know what'll happen when the doors close behind you…

I lugged my two 50 lb suitcases up to the subway platform just as the uptown 2 express train was arriving. I barreled my way into packed the car, panting from the endeavor.

There's no better functional fitness test than dragging suitcases through the subway. I'd give my performance a B- given my racing heartbeat and sweat drenched back.

The doors closed, and a voice echoed down the car from a tall, skinny man in tattered clothes.

"Ya'll fuckers listen up!!! I need to tell you about a man. A man named Jesus."

The New York subway is a mode of transportation, a stage, and an office all in one. Mariachi bands, singers, dancers, candy sellers, preachers, and every type of person in between hit the floor in hopes of earning a few bucks. Or, as in this man's case, saving your soul. Protocol is to share weary glances with fellow commuters before burying your head in your phone to avoid eye contact.

"Ya'll are prolly gonna go to hell 'cause you've been doing fucked up shit. You hear? Ya'll are  sinners and don't understand the wrath of God."

Three men in neon construction vests filtered in at the next stop. They weren't pleased by the ruckus. Reggae music began blaring from a hidden backpack speaker. The unofficial car preacher wasn't phased, and just yelled louder.

The men cranked the music up another notch. The preacher took a few steps closer in response.

It was a battle of the noises:

Reggae vs Jesus. Who would win?

My stop came before I was able to find out.

New York, it's great to be back.