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He was standing by the railing of the pier, watching closely, trying to figure out who was about to deliver him breakfast. The rows and rows of tables stretched along in front of him, the vendors opening their windows, people milling around, smelling freshly prepared food, wondering what time it was and pausing in front of the vendors.

He knew what he was planning to do wasn't right, but a guy needs to eat.

That's when I spotted her.

She was probably about his age, wearing a sharp business skirt and jacket, her hair in a bun. He pictured her as either a librarian or a teacher. He lowered himself onto a bench and waited.

She carried a steaming hot cup of coffee and a sliced bagel with smear across the boardwalk, her eyes scanning the tables. Selecting one, she dropped her things down on the table top, arranged them just so, and ran to get a napkin.

He made his move.

With lightening fast moves, he swooped in, feeling like a seagull, and grabbed the coffee, the bagel, and her wallet, and walked on by the table as casually as though he didn't do any of it.

He didn't slow when she started yelling.

He kept walking. He was already melting into the crowd, already well beyond the point of return.

But then her heels clicking the wood boardwalk below them came up behind him.

He resisted the urge to run and shoved the wallet into the folds of his city-issued blanket. He sipped the coffee quickly, taking the hugest mouthful he could to make it look emptier than hers could've been so quickly.

"You," she yelled.

He ducked down a small alley to the right that ran between a surf shop and a hot dog stand.

"Hey-- you," she yelled again, keeping up with him. Finally, she caught up and grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around.

They stared at each other awkwardly. She peered up through thin-framed glasses, he down through mats and tangles of wildly unkempt hair and beard.

Those eyes, she thought.

He felt a piercing sense of guilt. "I'm sorry." He pulled her wallet out of his blanket. He shoved that and the unbitten bagel into her hands. "I already drank the coffee," he admitted. "I'd pay you back but.. well, I stole it for a reason."

She held the wallet and bagel in her open palms.

His honesty had shocked... and impressed... her.

When she didn't respond, he swallowed, and turned away.

"Wait," she called.

He stopped and looked back.

She held up the wallet, "Let me buy you breakfast."

He hesitated.

"Please," she said.

He moved towards her and tugged an old baseball cap he was wearing off his head, bowing ever so slightly to say his thanks, and replaced the mangled old cap on his head.

"C'mon," she said, laying a hand on his back and guiding him back towards the boardwalk.

He savored the feeling of somebody touching him like that. It was the first time in a very long time that someone had touched him in a way that wasn't hostile. Most people moved as far away from him as possible. Most people thought he smelled. Most people were afraid of getting fleas or diseases if they neared him.

She led the way into a small diner and they took a seat. It smelled like pancakes and coffee and warmth. He closed his eyes and drank in the scent. After years of picking the trash and stealing food, the inside of a place like this smelled euphoric.

"Get whatever you want," she commanded, "The sky's the limit." She shoved the menu at him.

His blue eyes stared into her face, searching, trying to figure out why she was doing this. She didn't look up, studying her own menu. By the time she had looked up, he'd looked away.

A waitress appeared at their table. She looked at him in disgust and wrinkled her nose, the smell of him turning her stomach. "What can I get you?" she asked.

"Pancakes," she answered. "With syrup. And bacon on the side. Orange juice, also, please."

"And you?" the waitress turned to him, scribbling the first part of the order on her little notepad.

"I'll uh.." he stared at the menu. "Just.. the uh, the side of sausages.." he muttered, feeling sheepish.

"Bring him the pancakes and the sausage, orange juice. And bring us both coffee," she said to the waitress, knowing the sausage wasn't enough.

He stared down at the place setting in front of him.

The waitress wrote it down and nodded, "Alright." She spun and moved away quickly, trying to escape the smell of him.

They sat in silence a moment.

"My name is Mally," she said finally, "What's yours?"

"Nick."

"Nice meeting you, Nick," she said. He was staring at the fork, the tip of his dirty finger touching the bottom of it in a shy manner. His fingernails were wide and dirt was stuck in them so deep that she doubted it would ever come out.

Once their breakfasts had been delivered before them - for which Nick had said a heartfelt, "Thank you" for - Mally asked, "What's your story, Nick?"

He looked up at her. "You'd never believe me if I told you."