I'd like to elaborate on the charm I hold the over the domicile-deprived. Call it the kavorka, they just find me. My first such instance occurred when I was a naive study-abroad student in France. (by "study abroad" I really mean living in any interchangable foreign country but still hanging out with the same 10 people, only now with have zero classes, zero job, and mommy and daddy pay for everything on the euro?) I was walking across a bridge with my roommate from both college and abroad, when we heard the not-so-distant hollers of an unidentified man leaning against the hood of a car. My friend instinctively walked around the trunk of the car; I mistakingly chose to walk across the hood of the car, meer inches from who would later be termed, "Le Perv." I presume my trajectory may have encouraged Le Perv, considering he took my false approach as the perfect opportunity to display his greater groinal region for my viewing pleasure. I saw it all: one peen, two balls, alert and staring directly at me. Of course my knee jerk reaction (no pun intended) was to scream like a child, grab my roomate and run across the bridge. In America, chances are if pedestrians see people running and screaming through the streets, they may not do anything but they will at least stare with curious interest. Not in France. They simply point and laugh, pondering how else they can add to your misery. After five minutes of running around aimlessly, shouting in search of an off-duty policeman who would most likely be on strike for not enough cigarette breaks, our spirits were broken. We started home, when not five minutes after the first incident I noticed yet a second homeless man stumbling towards us down the sidewalk. I quickly stepped in line behind my roommate, assuming the single-file formation would clear a wider path for the stumbling (and obviously D-runk) man. However, the plan backfired and seemed to offend my future attacker. He became enraged at my courtesy; clearly this is a homeless man of principle. He wont to take any favors, in any form. The man was now staring at yours truly, locking in his target. He quickens his pace, maintaining eye contact and wabbles at me. Before I knew it, he had KICKED ME IN THE SHIN! The fact that he looked me in the eye while doing it really made me feel dirty. Apparently, this seemed to satisfy him as he continued in his path, now with a cheerful bounce in his step. Within 5 minutes, I had respectively seen some unanticipated (and unwelcomed) penis and recieved a kick to the shin by two separate admirers. I guess not everyone can be this lucky.