A stranger sat at her table, claiming to be her soulmate.

But it had been so long since she’d last seen him, that she couldn’t be sure.

She could perfectly recall Stephen’s face at the age of fifteen.

She looked at the man across from her, and mentally added a wild thatch of brown hair to his bare skull. She rounded out his gaunt cheeks. She erased the deep indentations by his mouth and concealed the dark circles beneath his blue eyes.

Yes, maybe it was Stephen.

Though his appearance was altered, his mannerisms were familiar. He was nervous. His hands shook, so he kept them cupped around his coffee cup. Every time she caught his eye, he shyly looked away, a small smile curving his lips.

I’ve seen you here before, she said to him, haven’t I?

Yeah, he said, I’m in here a lot. I work down the street, at L’Agnello.

You’re a chef?

No. I’m a dishwasher.

I remember you being a really good cook.

I still am. But I’m a felon, so I’m lucky to have any kind of a job at all.

She knew she shouldn’t ask. Whatever story he had to tell, it would be sad. But curiosity got the best of her.

What happened?

I robbed a bank.

He smiled grimly.

Uh...I had a gambling problem. I borrowed a bunch of money from my workplace, to pay off a bet. But I didn’t want to get fired, because I really liked my job. Robbing a bank seemed like the most sensible solution at the time.

How did you do it?

Well, he said, I robbed my own bank – it’s actually a credit union – because I knew that their security was pathetic. I was in there one day, waiting in line, and I overheard the tellers were talking about how the cameras were broken. And I really needed money right then. So I wrote a note on a deposit slip that said, I have a gun, give me $467 dollars and nobody gets hurt. And they gave it to me! I couldn’t believe it! So I ran out and I didn’t know where to go. There’s a bus station a block away. I got on a bus to the mall. I just hid out in the mall bathroom for a while and then I went to work and paid back the money I owed.

But you got caught, she pointed out.

Not for a couple of weeks.

You went to prison?

Yeah. For six months.

She couldn’t think of anyone less suited for incarceration. She had a flashback, to when they were both in third grade, and Stephen didn’t want to turn over his grilled cheese and tomato sandwich to a noxious bully. After school, while waiting for the bus, the bully threw rock after rock at Stephen, who didn’t even attempt to flee or shield himself from the impact of the stones. He stood stock still, blood running down his cheeks. Finally, she slipped her (very heavy) bookbag off her shoulder and swung it at the bully using all her force, knocking him over and putting an end to his offensive.

How did you like prison?

I didn’t do very well, Stephen said, but I got my GED.

I wish things had turned out differently for you, she said.

What about you? Stephen asked, What’s your life like?

She sighed.

I’m a painter.

Oh, wow. You were always so good at drawing – I’ll bet you’re a really good painter.

She said, I don’t know how good I am. I might be a hack. I do mostly pet portraits.

Is that what it sounds like? Stephen asked.

People take a bunch of photos of their pet from different angles and I paint a portrait. I get paid $75 for a 16” x 20”. It pays the rent, if you can believe that.

Do you have any pictures on your phone of what you do?

Yeah, she said, and she brought up some images : a fluffy cat wearing a bow, sitting on a velvet armchair, a Yorkshire terrier with wings, a dalmatian running through a field of flowers at sunset.

Stephen started to laugh and couldn’t stop.

I’m sorry, he gasped, these are wonderful, but they’re so….

Manipulative?

He tried to drink some coffee, but ended up spit-spraying it all over the table.

Nice! she said, wiping up the liquid with a napkin.

When he’d recovered enough to speak he said, it’s not like you don’t know how funny the paintings are. You do know.

Yes, I know, she said, in order to be solvent, I have dispensed with my good taste. And I don’t regret it, not a bit. One must come to an agreement with the world.

He said, you’re right. That’s the problem I’ve had. I’ve never come to an agreement with the world.