Sacrilege wasn't exactly the kind of guy who put a huge weight on manners. Anyone who'd ever spoken to him could tell tales of his rough tongue and straight talking. One thing that always rankled with him though was judging another human being on sight, without giving them the benefit of the doubt.

This- naturally- happened a lot while he lived on the streets. Tramps don't often get the chance to give their life story before people have already made up their minds about them. One time in particular though stuck in his head. Visiting a café in Brooklyn with Ms. AlabamaWorley, discussing ways to get off the street and into a job, one particularly stuck-up waiter had decided that the smelly guy in the overcoat wasn't worth his time, despite being sat next to an obvious lady of class.

Perhaps it was the look in the waiter's eyes that told Sacrilege in no uncertain terms that he was less than dirt, or maybe the fact that he had company with him at the table, but the incident never left him.

We're now weeks later. Sacrilege's life has changed a lot in this time. He's still not rich, but he's off the streets. In a firm job, working at building a new life. Clean shaven and dressed in the best clothes his little wage can support, he returns to the same cafe. He takes a seat, waiting for his guest to arrive. A server comes over, and lo and behold it is the same one.

"Son, do you recognise me?" He says, after ordering a black filter coffee and a pastry for the wait. The waiter, uninterested, shakes his head and shrugs non-committally.

"Come join me at the table. I want to have a little chat with you."

The man makes his excuses, saying he can't possibly take time off while work is on. Sacrilege slips a couple of notes across the table, and the waiter's eyes light up.

"I'm buying your time. What's your name?"

The server takes a seat, slipping the money quickly into his pocket.

"Graham, sir."

Sacrilege chuckles at the "Sir". Looks like all it takes to get a little bit of respect is to flash money around. What a world we live in, eh?

"We're gonna sit here for a while. You try and think of where you might remember me from, while I wait for my guest to arrive. Good pay for such a simple job"

Alabama arrives at the Cafe fashionably late as always. She sparks up a ciggarette whilst she takes a look around to find her new aquaintence.

To her surpise she spots him seated at a table already with another guest. Curious she wastes no time and stubs out the cigarette before heading to the table. On her approach she recognises the man instantly, on her last visit to the Cafe with a young Sac she had scalded the man for his look of disgust he dared to give her guest.

"Good day, Sac. It's a pleasure to see you again so soon."

'Bama leans over and embraces the man before taking a seat beside him

"I see we have a familiar face amongst us. Does he remember the last time that he was in our presence?"

Alabama stifles a chuckle as she catches the bemused look on the mans face. Its clear the poor sap has no idea who he is sat with

"'Bama! Pleasure to have you join me. Well worth the wait, I'm sure".

He looks back to the waiter. The look on his face is one slow, dawning realisation. Not remembering Sacrilege is one thing, but Alabama wasn't someone easily forgotten. Especially if you've been on the end of one of her tongue-lashings. He puts two and two together, finally recognising Sacrilege for the street-rat that he'd given such scorn.

"Ahhh, I think it has clicked. Look at that face 'Bama. Can't tell if he's more scared or surprised."

Sacrilege steeples his fingers, looking over them at the waiter, who's blood is rapidly draining from his face.

"Look, Graham, I'm a reasonable guy. So after this conversation, unless you do something to really piss me off, I'm probably not going to kill you. Isn't that nice? I'm basically here to show you the error of your ways. The ghost of dickishness past, if you like. See, when you insult a street-rat, you're not just insulting him. You're also insulting the guy he might become."

He pauses here for a second.

"Which might happen to be a guy with friends in dark places. A guy who who's been taught how to handle disrespectful pricks. Maybe even a guy with a short temper sat across the table from you with a revolver aimed squarely at your balls. Who knows, this is all hypothetical"