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.