Stale bread and half-rotten carrots. That's what Nowak and his three crew members had been eating, mixed with the occasional, watered down soup, for the past few days. It was an extravagant form of torture. Work, eat terrible food, sleep, repeat. What a life he had to look forward to. The stress of it all was exasperated by the turmoil in his home country, Poland. He woke in the mornings knowing he possibly had nothing left to return to.

Lately, he had been getting creative with his food budget. A receipt, he realized, was enough to pass through the grocer with two loads of groceries, not just one. Leave a glove on the fridge, come back, load up again. A simple plan. It worked brilliantly. Yet, he never wrote it down in the little black book. What would the boss think? What would Anna think? It didn't matter; his men could eat, which meant they were more likely to listen to his next order for an 18-hour work shift.

Nowak shoved the last pack of carrots into the little plastic carry-bag. Simplicity. In and out. In and out. He took a deep breath, snatching his leather glove as he quickened his pace as he went for the door. His eyes stared out the side window as he almost made it to the door.

His body hit a block in his path--a human shaped block. It gasped with the force of quick impact, stumbling backwards. As he looked down at the mass, he blinked a few times. A woman, staring frustratedly at the now-spilled produce on the floor. He just shoved a woman by accident, and now her groceries were all over the tile below.

"Pardon me," he said quickly, his accent strong. His tall frame bent down, helping the stranger to collect her items. "I did not see you. I was in a rush. Forgive me, miss."