On the train out to Coney Island, a young girl was placing little cards on seats next to people. The card read something to the effect of, “I’m trying to raise money for an operation my mom needs, and for food. Can you please help by buying a pack of tissues.” She went through the train car, then came back the other way picking up cards and whatever money people were willing to part with. I gave her $5.00. She took the money and, without saying a word, went on to the next car. An older woman sitting near me, whom I instantly judged as a hard-core New Yorker, with her very practical attire and shopping cart loaded with crap, started in immediately about what a scam the whole thing is, how she’s seen her before, etc. She was telling it all to a young guy two seats down from me, and I couldn’t hear much, as I had noise cancelling headphones on, but I caught a word here and a word there, enough to get the key points, which were: I was a sucker for giving money to this complete stranger, and I just got ripped off. She was probably right, but my POV on panhandlers, generally, is that either way, whether their pitch is honest or bullshit, they’re obviously desperate and need the money more than I do. What’s a few bucks?

Anyway, that was that. The train arrived at Coney Island, and I headed to the boardwalk to see what I could see. About 15 minutes into my look-about, there she was. The same old lady from the train. She had set up one of those caricature-drawing stations smack in the middle of the boardwalk, surrounding herself with easels showing past work and various hand-made signs to draw attention her way. She sat on a small folding chair, sketching the young girl in front of her, a customer. There were a couple dozen young Orthodox Jewish children surrounding her and watching her do her thing. Maybe they all knew the young girl. Not sure. But their simple and humble dress code gave the whole image an old-fashioned monochromatic look, like it could have been a scene from Coney Island, circa 1930. So I took this shot, and converted it to black and white. 
Not sure if there’s a moral to the story, but in the end, the old lady who criticized me for giving money to a stranger whose motives were suspect, ended up providing me with a nice photograph, which I’ll use for god-knows-what.