One day in 1988 I was panhandling on Bloor Street (I was really living on the streets) and a beautiful young woman stopped at my request for change and told me that she would rather have me come back to her house with her and have a nice meal, and then I could help her paint her living room. Needless to say, I agreed that this was a fantastic idea.
We went back to her place, had some food, talked, painted her living room, drank wine and listened to Tom Waits. She gave me a comfy bed to sleep in, and more importantly and lingeringly impactful in my life, she gave me a comfy feeling inside regarding the room in the world for random acts of kindness and humanity.
Her name was Angelique, which is rather appropriate. She was sigh lovely.
BBB.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
