I was beginning to pass by a beautifully "tricked-out" Buick (or Cadillac?), as I noticed the driver, wearing a Dago-T and a neckfull of silvery gold chains, curled back into his seat, covering his mouth and convulsing with laughter at my sign. Just as I began to pass his window, he extended a handful of folded dollar bills. "I gotta give it to you for that sign, man." In his other hand was a thick wad of more folded bills. I told him I wasn't looking for money. He immediately stopped laughing, turned toward me, resting his forearms on his car door.

"What're you doing, then?," he asked. At this point I saw that he had incredibly vibrant green eyes, which surprised me because he was Latin, I am guessing Puerto Rican. His teeth were yellow.

"I'm not here for the same reason people with a sign usually are," I told him. He nodded. Then I went on to explain that when you see a person holding up a sign that tells you they're homeless, or whatever, that forms your main opinion of who that person is. I told him that my signs are different each day and if he'd ever see me again, his opinion of me might change.

He seemed to be thoughtfully considering everything I was telling him. "Oh, that's cool, man," he responded. He squinted reflectively. "I like that." He drove off nodding his head.