It happened two days ago when I was holding the sign. An older black woman put a quarter in my hand. I gave it back of course and thanked her for thinking about me. That's happened before, three or four times; someone thought I could use a donation to help me with my mission. Twice recently a car's pulled over and rolled down the window and an older black man with a face that connects reaches over from the driver's side and presses a half dozen wrapped menthol candies in my hand. It's the least I can do, he says. Then he goes ahead in the morning stream of traffic.
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