Worth every penny

Jeremy and I stepped outside for some fresh air last weekend at the Lo-Fi Social Club's reopening party, and this middle-aged guy with a cane walked up to us.

"Are you from Pennsylvania?" he asked me.

"Nah, I'm from Maryland," I said.

Then this guy launched into a his life history, including how he had moved to Scranton and married a fat Italian woman, who made dinner for him.

"She would slice a big loaf of Italian bread, butter it up, and then cut up some cucumbers and ask me, 'Am I gaining weight,'" he said. "AM I GAINING WEIGHT?!?!?!?!"

I figured sooner or later he would ask me for something, and sure enough, after the Italian wife story, he asked for five dollars. I gave him a buck and told him that's all I was going to give him.

"Is that a five?" he asked. "Could you make that a ten?"

"That's a single," I said.

"Oh. One dollar. That might buy me a Snickers bar. I might be diabetic. How about a five?"

I laughed, told him no and thanked him for the story. It was definitely worth a dollar.

Later that night, I walked outside again and he was out there strumming his cane like a guitar and singing Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze." Only in Baltimore.

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