Please take my George from me.

Sure, you made a few bad decisions which is why you're out here on the corner, draped in a plaid assortment of tattered outerwear.  Still, it's not the end for you.  You found a saxophone,-God knows where- and you figured out how to make it sing.  Kudos to you Mr. Street Musician.  Your riffs make me feel better on the inside where I need it most.  

I'm broke too but I seem to have this dollar.  Something tells me I won't feel right unless it ends up in the upside-down Sherlock Holmes hat positioned strategically within an arms grasp in front of you.  Would you be fast enough to grab my arm in time if I dropped the one dollar bill and picked up the five I see some better-off aficionado blessed you with?  I guess I'll never know.