Last night I was awaiting a spot at my favorite sushi bar downtown. It’s a hole in the wall in the Little Tokyo area with the freshest, most delicious sushi and sashimi… I could wax poetic for ages, but back to the point: Little Tokyo, like much of the downtown area, has a large homeless population, and many of these men and women know a captive audience when they see one.My boyfriend and I were loitering outside the restaurant when an older gentleman approached and launched into his speech. He was homeless, and he wanted to sing us a Billie Holiday song in exchange for our ears and anything we could spare if we approved of his rendition.I am a notorious sucker for such requests – whether he sang or not, I would have readily given him a couple of dollars. I’m sure I get taken advantage of on a regular basis, but I think it’s worth it for the times I don’t. My boyfriend begged me to decline his offer, anticipating that we would attract a fair bit of attention from our fellow restaurant-goers. This man clearly wanted to sing, however, and I thought to ask him NOT to – just take some change and go away – was unkind. So, he sang his song, the boyfriend was a good sport about it, and we parted ways. But not before he told us to check him out on youtube under his stage name, Octave Fellow Soul.Unfortunately, a few hours later, I undermined my night’s karma by losing my cool – or rather keeping it a little too well – while at a bar a few blocks away. I had put my drink down on a sidebar on the crowded patio area and turned away for a moment. When I reached back for it, a girl wrapped dramatically in an ethnic-print scarf rushed forward….”NO NO no no no nooo,” she scolded. “That’s my drink,” she added, with as much condescension as possible as she tried to grab it from my hands. In a moment of out-of-character iciness, I gave her my coldest look in return. “This is my drink,” I said, moving my drink out of her reach, “maybe THAT ONE is your drink.” I injected as much venom as possible into this statement. “Oh,” she replied, seeing her mistake. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a bitch about it.” Ah! An opportunity for reconciliation – an honest mistake. But alas. I shrugged it off and turned away, letting the bad vibes hang in the air.I have to say, I’m a little loathe to admit last night’s meanness, but in the spirit of the game….

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At a local watering hole on Friday night, a group of revelers had an extra shot when they ordered a round and offered it to the table behind them. The recipient of said shot was grateful and thanked the group heartily when he left.

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