Who to give my change to?

There was the injured vet, (that's what his sign said) a clear plastic jug that once held candy, a top of a milk crate, which he stood behind while smoking. The woman with diabetes (it said so on her cardboard sign) crocheting hats in exchange for change. The two men, their incense smoking the air, who ask me every time that I pass, "Dollar to send poor kids to camp?" or "Dollar to feed a hungry child, just need $100 then I can go home." One tells me how pretty my smile is or how much he likes my hat. Another man, no front teeth, with a voice like port, strumming his guitar. Whatever he sings sounds blue. The young hobos, usually with dogs (Feed my dog! their signs say) dred locks, filthy calves, barefeet. The man that stands at in the middle of the median, unemployed (his sign says) needs money for food, and by the way, god bless.