At some point I lost my hand-painted ‘bad-muthaf**ker’ wallet in downtown LA last night. There’s never a good time to lose a wallet, but it especially sucks when you know you have to fly out the next day. Flying domestically sans ID is doable but not exactly fun. TSA anal probe anyone? Fast-forward to this morning. I hear Pepper yelling “Jimmy!” into the warehouse. I’ve known Pepper for going on 6 years now. He’s the local, and tremendously vocal (rhyme intended), homeless guy that frequents 6th Street. It’s rare that I’ve ever given him money, but I try to hook him up in other ways when I can. Like tons of bananas. He normally calls me Big Guy, so I thought it was odd when I heard his gravely voice echoing my name. When I went outside he was holding most of the contents of my wallet in one hand and a bunch of bananas in the other. He had found my plastic world strewn across the sidewalk a block away. He said he wasn’t sure who James Danko was but when he saw the mohawk on my drivers license he immediately knew who it belonged too and gathered up everything he could find. Not surprisingly the money and my bus card had disappeared but with that stuff I could really care less. And I guess my wallet was cool enough to keep too so that’s kind of a win. I like knowing that there’s someone out there rocking an original limited edition Jimmy Danko wallet. (Might have to make some more of those?) After numerous hugs and high fives he insisted I take some of his bananas too. I broke from the norm and slipped a twenty his way as an extra thank you. There are multiple aspects about the whole thing that put a grin on my face. I said goodbye to the mohawk months ago, but it’s ghost lives on. More importantly, share your bananas. Most importantly, I think about one of the things that living in a huge, diverse city like LA reiterates to me on an almost daily basis. We are all in this together. #share #losangeles Photo: Snapped this shot of Pepper last summer while hanging out on 6th Street.