“Let me see what you put in the bag,” he said.

I pressed the thick canvas straps firmly against my waist.

“They’re just old kitchen napkins,” I said.

“I’m taking them home to my apartment.”

“Show me,” he said.

I reached into the bag and slipped my hand past the cold metal edge of the tin.

I grabbed the fringed end of my scarf and pulled it all the way out, along with two floral napkins I had shoved in earlier.

I held the cloth up right in front of his chest.