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Spare change is fractional currency you have in your pocket left over from when you made a purchase. Or, maybe it's not. Maybe there's no fractional currency rolling around in those big, deep, designer pockets of yours at all. Frankly, I don't know. Which is why we have to ask:
edit Do you have any spare change?
Check your pockets. Rummage around in there. Do you feel change? Good. Is it spare change? Good. Is there at least fifty bucks of spare change there? There in your deep, deep, heavy pockets? Would you mind if I thrust my hands into your trousers and cupped and lifted those pockets like they were the pendulous breasts of a formerly voluptuous girl who had a litter of babies and now essentially has socks containing of tennis balls hanging down from her pectoral muscles?
Because, the thing is, if you have thirty cents, I don't want it. There was a time, kid, when the homeless would come up to you and say "Hey, man, do you have thirty-seven cents?" They'd say that because they hoped you'd fork over a whole fucking dollar. A dollar was like King Midas shit to the homeless back in the eighties. Even the thirty-seven cents was pretty damn good.
Nowadays it's more like "Excuse me, God Bless, but do you have $85.92, God Bless? God Bless!" And the answer is: yes. Yes, I have $85.92. But I'd rather give you thirty-seven cents.
But what if they won't take the thirty-seven cents? I mean, this is some humanitarian shit, here. That thirty-seven cents could turn everything around for them. It is your duty as an upstanding and bouncy citizen of Samaria to
edit AMBUSH SPARE CHANGE!!AMBUSH-STYLE. Here's your chance to do your Solid Snake shit.
First, find someone who looks kind of indigent. There are several signs that can point you in the appropriate direction. First, look for someone with excessive facial hair and a peculiar distribution of body fat. This is an indigent person. I guess I should have said there was one sign.
Then, pull out your Beretta. No reason.
Then sneak up on the indigent person in question. Do it stealthfully. You want to be like the wind, except less tangible, and fleshier. Sneak up... a little closer... a little sneaker... and then
edit THIRTY-SEVEN CENTS!
Point the Beretta at the indigent subject's temple, thrust the fucking coins into his mouth, and then book the fuck out of there. You're probably wanted for assault.
Congratulations! You're now a liberal.