Waiting for the bus to Manoa Falls from the Ala Moana Centre in Honolulu last April, I opened a little plastic Japanese box holding 12 slices of vegetarian California roll. A homeless man sitting on the pavement next to the bus shelter turned and stared at me.
“Would you like some?”
“Yeah”
I walked over to him and reached into the box for half the pieces.
“HEY! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” He furiously patted down his chest and checked multiple pockets of the multiple jackets he was wearing.
I froze.
“Christ”, he mumbled, he motioning for me to hold my hands out. As an obliging individual with little sense of personal safety, I tucked the sushi under my elbow and did as the homeless man directed.
He finally pulled it out of his coat (*please be a tiny puppy that doesn’t need to breathe, not a gun, please be a tiny extraterrestrial super puppy*) and squirted a giant dollop of antibacterial hand sanitiser into my hands.
“That would’ve been disgusting”, he grunted.
I passed him half my lunch with half a smile.
“Whaaat?”, he sighed, “Not even salmon?”
yeahnahutah 