Pulp-fiction -

“No shit,” Leo says. “You stole a man’s lunch and his hobby.”

He reaches into his own jacket. Marv flinches. Leo pulls out a folded napkin, opens it. Inside: a single, beautiful gold pocket watch. Engraved.

“So I grab the case,” Marv says, eyes wide, “and I’m out the window—three stories, fire escape catches me—and the guy inside, he’s still sleeping.”

He walks out. The diner door chimes.

The coffee is bad. Leo drinks it anyway. Marv stirs his four times, then twice the other way.

Marv finally speaks. “What do I tell the Boss?”