It was relatively early in the morning, I was heading to the workplace, standing at the bus stop waiting for #12.
As I crossed my arms for warmth against the wind and drizzle, (I had skipped the coat, foolishly holding hope in Portland's spring) a bum, riding a bike, passed behind me on the sidewalk. He stopped just past me and called out, "hey, do you have a spare quarter or two?"
I answered with the usual, "oh, I'm sorry, I don't carry cash."
His first question, although abated, was quickly followed by a second: "do you have a cigarette by chance?"
Again, I answered in the negative, "nah, sorry I don't smoke."
He smiled a gaped-smile at me, and I tentatively smiled back.
This was the moment he pulled out all stops:
"You don't date, do you?"
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