text by WILL PERKINS Even death lives on a budget in New York City. But like the city’s most industrious, death has a spectacular imagination about how to make ends meet. In this kingdom of dreams, it weeds out the weak preying on the city’s most at risk: People high on determination and their scenes. Death lurks in the underground here, the lungs of the city. Mostly on blue, red, yellow, orange, green and silver lines. Rarely brown, even less than that purple. It bumps up against the city’s ambitions, its determinations, these days mostly spooky eyed transplants. Stop after stop they stare aimlessly biting at the nails of their dreams hoping to catch a break, spitting the remains out in bunches all over town like coins tossed in a wishing fountain. Death crossed paths with the Notorious B.I.G. here once. On a blue line, the C train most likely….