Two heavy thuds caught the man's attention as the coins dropped into the bucket.  He lifted his head a little and stole a quick glance at the raven-haired woman as she went on her way.  Though he looked only for a moment, he tried to memorize every detail, to contemplate later, before turning his eyes downward to the bucket.  He knew she had said {Let me not be missed} in Vietnamese, but dressed the way he was, he wouldn't expect anyone to assume the bum sitting by the sidewalk was multilingual.  Had she simply wanted to make a wish without being understood, or did she know enough about him to seek him out, and this was her cyrptic way of saying so?  Was it a request for help - to help her escape without a trace?  Or was it bluster with an implied threat?<br/><br/>He did not recognize the coins in the bucket.  Slowly, he looked over his shoulder, back down into the alleyway behind him.  He looked high at the edge of the roofs, and low to peer at the bottoms of dumpsters and in drainage grates.  Seeing nobody, he turned back to the coins and picked one up, turning it slowly in his hand.  Had the woman made these coins herself?  Was this encounter some sort of performance art by someone who delighted in being misunderstood?  His eyes darted to the windows of shops across the street.  Was he being recorded for social media?  And why... he looked at the coins again.  Why did he feel vaguely disturbed by holding this coin?  He dropped the coin back into the bucket to rejoin its twin.<br/><br/>The woman had gone into the cafe.  If he followed her there, he would be out of place.  If he waited here, he could find her again as she left.  If she did not seek him out, it wouldn't necessarily intend she didn't mean to catch his attention.  He could follow her, to be sure.<br/><br/>In the mean time, the old sinner sat and dwelled on what he had seen of her.  The leather boots that suggested both sense of style and hinted at status.  The sunglasses that partially obscured her eyes.  The white blouse that showed no signs of grime or stain,  the checked skirt and the legs beneath it.  The timbre of her voice.  What could he guess from these things?  What did he know was true about her?  His eyes darted briefly up again to the street, sweeping back and forth.  Had anybody lingered there since the woman entered the building?  Was she being followed?  Was he being watched?<br/><br/>Silently, the homeless man sat and considered, but he did not follow the woman.  Not yet.