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How I talked to a drunk homeless guy This morning I was riding my bike back from physical therapy when I rode past a homeless guy. As I rode past him, he said, "Can you spare any change?" I didn't have any money with me, and probably wouldn't have stopped to give him any even if I had, so I turned my head to tell him I didn't have any, but my hair blew in my face so I couldn't say anything for fear of choking on my luxurious flowing locks. I had to stop at an intersection and he came walking up. He smelled like whiskey. "I'm sorry," I said. "I don't have any money with me." "Okay," he said. "Have a nice day." "You too." "You're only about 22, aren't you?" he asked. "25 tomorrow," I said. "I shouldn't even be asking that," he slurred, "because I have a daughter that's 28." "Oh really?" I said. Then the light changed. "Have a nice day," I said. "Same to you," he said. I rode away. Some other girls were coming across the street for the drunk homeless guy to accost. I realized that he had kind of been hitting on me. As if that would make me cough up some money. p.s. There will be no p.s. today.
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