Today, as I was walking into to my front gate I got panhandled by an older black man:

Panhandler: Say, my brutha. Could I bother you for a moment.
Me: Um, sure.
Panhandler: Now, I’m not trying to hit you up for any money.
Me: Ok.
Panhandler: But, you see. I’ve been walking all the way from Canal Street and I’ve got a ways to go, ya see. Now [he lifts his foot] can you see I’ve got this hole in my shoe. [points to foot, through hole in shoe.]
Me: Yes.
Panhandler: My feet are soaked to the bone. Now, I don’t want any money, but…
Me: [Wait for it…. …. busfare… say it… busfare…]
Panhandler:… do you have a clean pair of socks?
Me: (?!) Um. [I then realize I have to do laundry and spent an hour last night unsuccessfully looking for a clean pair of socks for myself.] I don’t have any clean ones. I can give you some dry ones though.
Panhandler Sockfootler: Oh. Now, I ain’t saying you gots nasty dirty feet or nothin’, but you don’t have any clean ones?