Tabby observed with her characteristic blank expression as the scruffy girl across from her demolished the food on both sides of the table.
The eating process was neither delicate nor mindful, but it demonstrated a level of urgency that suggested genuine hunger rather than simple greed.
The girl consumed the french fries, chicken sandwich, and apple slices that had originally been intended for Tabby's portion with the same efficiency she applied to her own meal.
"You are quite a ravenous little thing." Tabby remarked.
The girl clearly heard the comment but chose to ignore it in favor of continuing her focused consumption of the fast food offerings.
Her clothing consisted of a navy blue hoodie that had likely been darker once but now showed considerable fading and several small tears along the sleeves and hem, though the damage was not severe enough to render the garment unwearable. Her shorts were similarly worn, with frayed edges and permanent stains. The sneakers on her feet had seen far better days, with the white rubber soles now a dingy gray and the fabric showing signs of separation from the sole in several places.
Some of the accumulated grime on her hands and clothing had transferred to the food during the eating process, but she seemed entirely unaware of this contamination as she continued working her way through the meal.
The initial plan had been to simply request the return of my wallet through direct negotiation, but the girl's expression when she noticed the growing number of spectators suggested that flight was her preferred response to confrontation. The offer of food appeared to be the most efficient method of ensuring cooperation while avoiding a public scene that would attract unwanted attention.
Tabby had originally intended to ask whether the girl would refrain from stealing her wallet, at least temporarily, when she observed the increasing anxiety in the pickpocket's demeanor as more pedestrians began to notice their unusual standoff.
The girl's eyes had darted repeatedly between the wallet in her hands and the various escape routes available, and her body language indicated she was preparing to bolt with Tabby's belongings rather than engage in any form of negotiation.
Recognizing that a chase through crowded streets would be both undignified and potentially unsuccessful, Tabby had grudgingly made the offer to purchase food in exchange for her wallet's return, with the stipulation that the total cost remain under sixty dollars to preserve her limited budget for the fishing project.
The cost of the meal is regrettable, but significantly less problematic than the loss of identification documents and the remaining cash in my wallet.
She waited for the girl to finish chewing a particularly large bite of chicken sandwich before attempting conversation again.
"How is your situation at... where you consider home?"
The girl paused in her eating, picked up Tabby's own soft drink, and took a substantial sip before responding.
"I don't have a 'place I consider home.'
"Are you and your family nomadic then?" Tabby asked, attempting to gather additional contextual information without appearing overly intrusive.
"Don't have family either," the girl replied without hesitation this time, returning her attention to the remaining food.
This response left Tabby momentarily shook, as she had not anticipated such a definitive statement about family absence. Even for someone like her, the implications were waving their flags, she recognized that probing further might venture into territory that was both inappropriate and potentially distressing for the individual involved.
"I apologize for your loss," she said after a brief pause.
The girl finally looked up from her food consumption, her lime-colored eyes displaying clear exasperation at Tabby's assumption.
"My parents and siblings are probably still alive and kicking somewhere. I just don't consider them family anymore. They're simply biological relatives at this point. Parents and siblings, nothing more."
Tabby nodded in acknowledgment of this clarification and made a mental note to avoid additional questions that might prompt backstory divulging.
Her fishing project timeline was already compromised by this unexpected interaction, and becoming entangled in someone else's family difficulties would create complications that exceeded her capacity to manage effectively.
And, frankly, she didn't care.
After allowing several minutes for continued eating, she decided to gather the minimal information necessary for concluding their transaction.
"What is your name?"
The girl slowed her chewing slightly and looked up with consideration, as though weighing the implications of sharing this information.
"My name is Mi—" She hesitated mid-syllable, then completed the statement with apparent deliberation. "ya. My name is Miya."
How natural and completely inconspicuous.
Given her circumstances, the use of a preferred name rather than legal documentation names would be understandable.
Tabby accepted this information without further investigation.
"Are you primarily in this area, or do you move around frequently?"
"I stay in the surrounding areas mostly. I try not to draw attention or really be seen much at all," Miya replied.
"You're a real freak for noticing your missing wallet, y'know?"
"With all the moving and crowding around you, you should have barely registered a thing like that..." Miya followed up, returning to her consumption of the remaining french fries.
"I felt lighter."
"...Weirdo."
Tabby nodded and stood up from the table, recognizing that the meal was nearly completed and that her own schedule required immediate attention to avoid significant delays in reaching the sportfishing charter service.
"Stay safe. A little girl in your circumstances could use all the assistance available."
Before she could complete her departure, Miya's voice rose with clear irritation.
"Why do you keep talking as if you're some wise senior citizen? You can't be that much older than me."
Tabby turned back to face her, puzzled by this objection.
"Am I not a senior to you?"
"I'm sixteen years old and look exactly as any other sixteen year old should, thank you very much. You can't possibly be more than a year or two older!" Miya responded with evident annoyance.
Hm?
She is sixteen years old? I am fifteen years old.
...I am younger than her?
Tabby experienced a moment of genuine perplexity at this revelation, though she maintained her neutral expression while processing the unexpected information.
After a brief pause to adjust her understanding of their relationship dynamic, she offered a single word of acknowledgment.
"Shrimp." She then completed her departure.
...
Back on track with the original schedule.
The navigation application on her phone directed her through several residential streets before reaching the waterfront area where Coldwater Lake was situated among several commercial establishments catering to tourists and recreational fishing enthusiasts.
The area was not quite as densely crowded as the movie theater entrance had been, but it still contained a substantial number of people engaged in various lakefront activities.
I should have inquired about the title of the film that was attracting such large crowds at the theater.
The lake itself stretched beyond her immediate field of vision, with several boat docks extending into the water and numerous small watercraft visible on the surface.
The atmosphere carried the pleasant scents of lake water and cooking aromas from nearby food vendors, while the sounds of conversation, boat engines, and water activity created a background environment that was busy but not unpleasantly chaotic.
After several minutes of observation, she identified a man in his late twenties or early thirties who was engaged in what appeared to be an heated conversation with someone who bore a striking physical resemblance to him but was obviously younger, probably mid-teens.
The older individual wore clothing that suggested outdoor professional activity, and most importantly, he displayed a badge, imbed with a stylized wave in its center, on his chest that indicated some form of official capacity related to river operations or safety management.
Tabby approached the pair and waited respectfully for the older man to complete his scolding of the younger individual, who was almost certainly his son based on their physical similarity and the dynamic of their interaction. The conversation appeared to concern the younger person's failure to follow established safety protocols and refusal to complete what was only referred to as 'a simple task.'
When the lecture concluded and the son had assumed a sullen posture, Tabby stepped forward to gain the man's attention.
"Excuse me, I was wondering if you might have information about chartering services available on Coldwater River."
The man's demeanor immediately brightened, and his previous irritation with his companion was replaced by professional enthusiasm.
"Absolutely! I actually own and operate one of the premier charter services here on the lake, the Coldwater Catch. I'm Oliver, and I've been running fishing expeditions and educational trips for about eight years now."
What a boon. This is the second charter service owner I have encountered effortlessly today.
And the owner of the highly acclaimed Coldwater Catch, no less.
The man's son remained silent and continued his angry sulking, though he seemed to be listening to the conversation despite his apparent desire to be elsewhere.
"I have searched many places online today and many have recommended your service specifically as the highest quality option in this area. I wanted to verify whether these recommendations were accurate, particularly since I have also met another charter operator who offered similar services."
Oliver's eyebrow arched with what appeared to be recognition mixed with competitive interest.
"By any chance, would that other operator happen to go by Captain Morrison?"
The boy's mood seemed to deteriorate further as Tabby confirmed Oliver's question with a simple nod, and his father immediately burst into hearty laughter.
"Morrison! That old salt is still trying to convince people that twenty years of experience makes him the authority on local fishing!" Oliver's laughter continued for several more seconds before he composed himself enough to continue speaking.
"Don't get me wrong, Captain Morrison knows his business well enough, but he's operating out of the harbor district where the real fishing happens once a month if you're lucky. Here on Coldwater Lake, we see action every single day."
"The main difference is that Morrison's dealing with ocean conditions and tidal patterns that change constantly, which means his trips are more dependent on weather and seasonal factors. Lake fishing offers more consistent conditions and better opportunities for beginners to actually learn techniques instead of just hanging on while the boat fights rough water," Oliver explained.
The sullen teenager shifted his weight and muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely disparaging, though the words were not clearly audible. His father either did not hear the comment or chose to ignore it in favor of continuing his promotional presentation to Tabby.
"How much time do you have available for questions? If you're serious about comparing services, I'd be happy to show you our equipment and explain exactly what makes lake fishing the better choice for someone who's getting started."
Tabby consulted her phone to check the time and calculate the remaining window for gathering information before needing to return to the train station for her journey home.
"I have around one hour before I need to depart for my return trip."
Oliver's smile widened at this response, and he gestured toward a dock area where several boats were moored.
"Perfect! One hour gives me plenty of time to demonstrate why every fishing enthusiast in this area eventually realizes that Coldwater Lake offers the best combination of convenience, safety, and fish population density in the entire region."
He began walking toward the boats with wide strides.
His son followed behind them with obvious reluctance, maintaining his sullen expression while clearly having no choice but to accompany them on this impromptu sales presentation.