across the street from arrow, a black man pitches a story to me about how he's unemployed and just trying to hustle a few bucks by providing "services" to people.  he says he knows me.  i say "hmm, let me guess.  buddy holly, right?"  earlier in the night, a guy playing keyboard very badly in front of the cat club had yelled at me "hey elvis costello.  come here.  can i have your autograph?"  i'm wary.  then i realize that the black guy is right.  halloween.  when i had to walk all the way down market street by myself at 4am in a sailor uniform.  he'd been extremely polite, and seemed out of place on the street trying to hit people up for money.  on halloween he followed me for a few blocks, and tried to sell me protection from the bums that come out as soon as the sun goes down.  and he'd wanted to take me to a strip club and have me tip him for the convenience of finding entertainment.  not that i needed or wanted any of that, and i'd tried to explain that if i had any money at all, i'd be in a taxi at the moment.

so across the street from arrow, i give this guy two dollars and wish him well.  "come on... one more dollar.  come on."  i tell him that it's nice to make his acquaintance again, and that two dollars isn't that bad.  "yeah you're right.  it ain't bad."  obviously i'm not a saint.  i just like stories.  i guess i'll see him again next year, and the story will be exactly the same as this year and last year.