Another beggar on San Pedro, and I had change. I always have change. He was standing along North Star Mall. He held up a small smudged sign, written in wax pencil that read, 'Anything you can give is appreciated'�. I thought the sign was very much like him, insignificant.

He was a tired man, sweaty from a long days work, and grimy from the exhaust he undoubtedly sucked in for a few dollars he panhandled that day. I was ready to put him in one of my folders. You know the ones; there is the, hate your fucking guts for trying to make me feel guilty folder and the fuck you pal, for trying to separate me from my money folder. I always keep them handy for situations like this.

I didn't want to look at him, but the woman in the nuke the Arabs and bring home the oil SUV, gave him money. I looked at him closely and he was walking like a duck that had his life plucked out from under him. He actually looked like a victim. They usually look like drunks; red faces dirty clothing sometimes hiding their pimps in nearby bushes and usually invoking the name of god. But not this guy; he looked legit.

I looked around and there were no bushes. He had nothing to hide. On my left, I spotted a bag. It was exposed and had a pair of old sneakers a bottle of water and a book. I thought, shit, he has a book. This guy is good. So when he approached my car, I didn't feel guilty. It felt good to give, but the New Yorker in me said, 'No booze or drugs, right?'� He looked a little annoyed, as if he were a customer and I a clerk. I liked him so I gave him my money.

His aura felt clean, and although I had showered and probably washed my hands seven times that day, I was not clean until I met him.

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