I'm not a busker myself, but. . . .

As far as answering requests is concerned, I watched a fellow make out pretty well by responding to requests, but he was well equipped for it. He was playing and singing one sunny Sunday afternoon at the Café Ladro in Seattle, a few blocks from where I live. On sunny afternoons, the Café Ladro turns into a sidewalk café, and this fellow was singing for the assembled patrons, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his performance. One of the patrons asked him if he knew any Johnny Cash songs, which, fortunately, he did. A lot of them!

The result was that (trying not to be too obvious about it) I watched his open guitar case filled up with a pile of dollar bills, at least a couple of fives, and a sprinkling of change—within about half an hour.

Among other things that undoubtedly helped him that afternoon was that a man and wife who were drinking coffee and listening had a daughter. Cute little thing, about four years old, dark hair, big eyes, bright blue dress, and black Mary Jane shoes, who was going from table to table with her hand out. The patrons would give her dollar bills which she would immediately go over and toss into the guitar case.

It made me seriously consider taking up busking.

Don Firth