Who are these people?

I did want to start my journal with “It was a dark and stormy night.” No really, I did. But it is not dark, nor stormy, and it is not night. Another time. Thinking about what to write, I became aware that the people in my life are, well, not like everybody else. I was recently visiting my sister in New York City and we had gone to her health club. I know. I know. It sounds so New Yorkish to do this. But, I wanted to spend quality (!) time with her so there I was trying to follow her lead. We were sitting outside the club for awhile before we went inside and suddenly a young man in tattered, filthy clothing sees me and walks over. I am so used to being approached by people—yeah, more often than not, weirdish people—but my sister was alarmed, being a true New Yorker and all.

Young Man: Hey, are you busy?
Me: Ummm. No.
Young Man: My nails are too long and weak, and I don’t want to break them. Can you peel this orange for me?
He opened his hand and sure enough, there was an orange there.
Me: Okay.
He then told me that as a thank-you, he was going to read to me two poems he had written. And so he did.
After the orange was peeled and I separated the segments, I gave him my verdict: Very good poems. He beamed and told me that he was giving me the paper with the poems as a gift. And so he did!

Later, my sister told me that whenever I tell her about the random visits from strangers and unexplainable situations that seek me out, she always thought that I was s-l-i-g-h-t-l-y exaggerating. But, after seeing it with her own eyes, no longer would she doubt my veracity.