Walking along 14th Street with K after a jazz concert at the Scandinavian House, to a West Village restaurant, on a hot night, I called for a stop to buy a bottle of water. Right outside the deli was an ice bath with bottles standing up to their necks in ‘cool’. As I turn to enter the shop, a panhandler calls to me for a ‘little something’. My response is, ‘Would you like a bottle of water?’ His size is large and he is far more bundled up than is called for by the weather and my assumption is that he must be ‘hot’. ‘No water,’ he says, ‘I’ll have a soda.’ ‘I don’t buy sodas, for myself or anyone,’ I respond. ‘But that is what I want.’ he retorts. ‘Sodas give you diabetes and other dread diseases, would be pleased to buy you a water,’ I say with a feeling that I am not reaching him. ‘No thanks.’ he says. ‘You sure?’ I ask. ‘Yup.’ he replies.
I grab a water, enter the store and pay for the water. $1.25. ‘Offered the guy outside one, but he didn’t want it.’ I say, expecting no response, just have this impulse. No response comes but when I come back outside the panhandler says ‘What did he say about me?’ ‘He didn’t say anything,’ I say, ‘I told him I wanted to buy you a water, but you said no.’ I join K and we walk away.