When my family was in Rotterdam, picking up our van being shipped from California, we arrived in the middle of the night. Only ones on the platform apart from a lone, slightly dishevelled-looking woman. She wanders over and starts speaking Dutch. My Dad says "Sorry, we don't speak Dutch," to which she replies (without missing a beat) "Oh, you're American! Say you wouldn't happen to have a few guilders, would you?" We did not, but I was impressed at the command of English that a Dutch beggar had. *grins*
Sometimes the homeless, the schizophrenic ones, I mean, are really interesting. We had one here, Peron, who would always talk about working for the FBI, the CIA, and the Savannah Morning News (all at the same time, no less! *grins*). He would always have something reflective on him, like the metal back of a watch, which he would put on the ground, if we were talking outside, and direct with his foot. This was to protect us officers from the lasers being fired by CIA satellites.
Man, I miss Peron...