“Lady, do you have some spare change?” asked a man sitting on a bench with eyes glassed over from one or more intoxicants, which from one of the notes in the bouquet of odors included alcohol.
“I don’t have any change,” I replied, “but would you like a peach? I just bought some.”
“No. I have my own.” After a pause, when I’d already passed him, he called out, “do you have a can opener?”
I guess his peaches were canned and that he preferred them canned to fresh.