[center][h1][color=#C84127]Yoska Petulengro[/color][/h1][/center]

[color=#C84127]T[/color]he young man was taking a break from digging through the trash and had sat down to enjoy the bagel he'd found. It wasn't as fresh as he'd hoped. It had already cooled and turned into bread jerky. He'd managed to eat about a third of it when a young woman approached him from around the alleyway. He dropped the bagel and stood, immediately on edge. His brown eyes were wide and fearful. He was afraid she would threaten to call the police on him, or maybe just yell at him a little for being a waste of air.

But her eyes were soft. He looked up curiously as she dug around in her purse. When she pulled out a folded twenty dollar bill. He knew, roughly, about how much that was worth in American money. He could probably get a couple days meals out of it. Or maybe some clothes that weren't completely covered in dirt and torn. He timidly approached her and took the bill from her hands. His eyes darted to the ground, never actually meeting her's.

"Thank you," He said, his accent thick and his voice soft.

He waited until she had left, gone inside he assumed, before he moved again. He looked down at the twenty, then down at the bagel that was now sitting in the dirt. He could probably find something a little better to eat. He couldn't quite the remember the last time he'd had a protein rich meal. 

The willowy man slunk towards the front of the building, peering inside through the windows to see how many people were in there. There were quite a few...but it smelled really nice. Maybe if he had money to pay, they wouldn't throw him out. He slowly climbed the steps towards the door. A sign caught his eye: "No shoes, no shirt, no service." He looked down at his feet, at his pitiful shoes. They could hardly be called that; they were old tennis shoes he'd found in the trash about a year ago, and they were all but falling off his feet. But, technically, he did have shoes.

He opened the door and took the first step inside, and immediately he felt as though he were being stared at. A few people [i]did[/i] actually turn to look at him. He lowered his head and retreated to the most remote table he could find, at least a few feet from anyone else. He sat down and set his hands on the table, twiddling his thumbs nervously. He was starting the think he may have made a mistake. He obviously didn't belong in here.

He noticed a menu on the table and picked it up. He couldn't read any of the food names or descriptions, but at least it had pictures. He had always been ashamed of just how ignorant he really was, and it was embarrassing to have to ask for help. One picture of a sandwich, piled high with meat, looked really good. Under it's description, it said "7.50", which he assumed was the price. That would leave him with 12.50 left over, which was enough to buy a shirt and some pants at Goodwill, maybe even shoes. If nothing else, he at least knew basic math. 

He set the menu down again, leaving it open to the page he had seen the picture on. The young man began to twiddle his thumbs again when his eyes were drawn to the small, circular scar right at the base of his first knuckle. He had many such scars, several on that one hand alone. He slowly slid his hands back down into his lap, hiding them under the table.