This is important. Do you hear me? What I’m saying carries weight. A confession, you might say. His fingers tapped on the table, making the coffee shake a bit. There are things I’ve done, he said. Bad things. Things I shouldn’t have. 

Like what? She asked.

Stole.

Hmm. Go on, she got up to pour herself a cup.

When I was homeless, I used to take the train all night to keep warm. There were always these drunks passed out. Almost lying in their seats.

I see. She looked at him. Sat back down. Poured him some more coffee. A breeze came through the kitchen window.

Well. I used to take wallets and purses. Shopping bags. Anything I could get my hands on. 

She nodded her head. The cat scratched in the litter box, covering up tracks. You ever get caught?

He shook his head. Nope. Just went on my merry way. Fifties, twenties, hundreds, tens, all kinds of cash. Credit cards. Pictures of people. One lady had nothing but a toothbrush in her bag. Maybe she was worse off than me.

You think?

He cracked a smile. Took a sip of coffee. Talked about old Chicago. How times were hard. Times are still hard. Nothing has changed, he said. I don’t steal anymore.

No?

No. Just live paycheck to paycheck. Month to month.

Don’t we all. She looked out the window. She saw busses going by. Heard sirens. Saw the sun come up. Don’t we all.