When you work or live in the city, it means two things:

a) you are sometimes going to have parking issues

b) people are going to ask you for money

I’ve learned to say No. Not to the PPA. Those f-ers just add on more fines. But to the people who ask for money, I’ve learned to say No for the most part.

Still, sometimes you don’t say no. You had a really good day. Or a really sad day. Or the guy’s hand-scrawled sign is particularly clever. His girlfriend is seemingly pregnant. He plays an old guitar, and she sings a lovely song about hope in a hopeless place, and they have an emaciated matted-hair little dog with wide brown eyes and a stubby tail just on the verge of happy. And maybe, thanks to a few bucks from me, they will beat the heroin thing, and rock out on Jimmy Kimmel, and write a memoir, where they talk about the woman who bought them coffee and gave them ten bucks and it was the jump start they needed to get back on their feet.

Other times you don’t say no, and you’re not sure why. Like the day when Daniel, who is probably 49, with a long beard and a big belly full of beer and cheese steaks, is sitting in the light rain outside the Chinese buffet, where I am going into to buy a bottle of seltzer and a homemade fig bar.

Daniel (whom I recognize, because I’ve bought him coffee, and he frequents this 19th-and-Market-Streets part of town) says “hello young lady, I am just looking for a little something to eat.”

I don’t know what makes me say what I say next. I’m not having a particular sad or good day. It’s a non-descript day, to say the most. He doesn’t have a dog.

I say: “I can get you something to eat.”

And Daniel jumps up, grabs his canvas backpack, and follows me inside the Chinese Buffet, where you pay by the ounce.

He asks, “What can I get?”

I look at the seemingly-small Styrofoam container in his hand and say, “whatever you want.”

I get my seltzer (they are out of fig bars), and wait by the register. And wait. While Daniel peruses the buffet deliberately. And eventually begins to pack the styrofoam box like a physicist exploring space and density.

It is 1:45. I have a 2 p.m. meeting. I go to the buffet and ask him quietly (the store is getting crowded), “what’s your name?”

“Daniel.”

“Hi Daniel, I’m Michelle.” I put my hand out.

He shakes it cordially. “Hi Michelle. Thank you. I’m going to sit up at Rittenhouse Square and eat this.”

“Great! I think the rain has stopped for now. Umm, Daniel?”

“Yes?” he asks politely, pausing from positioning an avocado wedge alongside a chunk of imitation crab meat.

“I have to go back to work. So I need you to finish. Okay?”

“Okay. Okay, I’m so sorry.” And Daniel quickly adds seafood cocktail, meatballs, sausage and peppers, a slice of kiwi, and a pineapple wedge.

When he puts the Styrofoam meal on the scale, I am surprised to see it weigh in at 2.5 lbs, in that tiny box, for a total cost of $19.86.

Daniel, at that cost, I could have taken you to a nice restaurant for lunch, like Parc or Zama. Or the Whole Foods, where you could have bought a day’s worth for you and some friends. Or the Giant Supermarket where you could possibly feed a small army.

*******

I used to see Daniel around, outside the same Chinese Buffet. Or across from the Brooks Brothers, by the lot where men and women making purchases can park their cars for free. He didn’t ask for food there, just money. I’m a little embarrassed that I’d usually cross the street to avoid him. Sometimes I’d feel brazen and walk by and say, “Hi Daniel,” and he’d say hello, a little perplexed.

I hadn’t given or bought him anything since the Chinese Buffet day, though.

The thing about Daniel is he didn’t smell like body odor or old alcohol. He didn’t dress nicely, but he could blend in at any family barbecue I attend. He was mannerly. I got the feeling he read historical fiction. My brain is pretty sure he fathered at least one child, now grown. I don’t think he was homeless. About a month ago, I made a decision to find out more about Daniel, but I haven’t seen him since then.

Confucius say: do not be surprised by weight of Styrofoam box at Chinese buffet.