The Feirce Stranger at New York Market

One day at a pie shop,
I met a man selling cakes,
For money he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some handshakes.

"Got any handshakes?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No handshakes here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.

"We've got some lovely crisps,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some wisps."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.

The man seemed exceptionally small,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call screwball,
Great disdain he noticeably oozed.

Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit tall.
Still he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty cool.

So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the pie shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you I believe."

"Cakes, handshakes, you shall find.
Crisps, wisps, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to New York Market.

So to New York Market I decided to go,
In search of the handshakes I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.

There were stalls selling dresses,
Apples in many shades.
There were even stalls selling caresses
People were scattered from many trades

I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather tall
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all cool.

Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some handshakes!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some crisps and cakes.

"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the handshakes she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.

As I walked away I hard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?