Last night I was studying the menu outside a restaurant and I felt a hand settle familiarly on my shoulder as someone walked behind me. The man attached to the hand stopped by my side after he'd passed me. He was black, and wore a dark sweatshirt with the hood up. He asked me for fifty cents.
When I apologetically declined (I prefer not to pull my wallet out in such circumstances: after dark, in Greenwich Village, alone except for the complete stranger with his hand on my shoulder) he replied, "so you want me to go to jail?"
That was unexpected, so I apologized again, and this time he calmly told me, "you see, that's why I hate white people." I went inside the restaurant to look at the menu.