Beggars can be choosers?

Walking past the marquis lights of a strip club on our way home from dinner, a man with hair sticking up like an unkempt lawn wearing a t-shirt that might have been white in the 90's motioned at us. "Hey, hey there. You got a minute?"
"Sure," Charlie shrugged, "What's up?"
"Those leftovers, you, you want 'em?" He asked, pointing toward the white folded take-out box Charlie was swinging by his side.
"You can have them. You want them?"
"Well," he paused thoughtfully, "whatcha got?" We looked at each other and I tilted my head, wondering where this was going.
"Pad thai. Its noodles and stuff."
Shaking his head back and forth he pushed for more details, "But is there any meat?"
Charlie let out a half chuckle, "Well yeah, there's chicken."
"No, no that's cool. I don't want it," he said as he shuffled off, holding his hand out warding off the food extended in his direction.
My mouth was open and I could barely choke out a disbelieving, "Did that just happen?"
"Can you do that? And who doesn't like chicken?"
"I guess beggars can be choosers."