The redhead seated across from the distraught young man laughed as she sipped her latte, "Trevor, you are so full of shit!"
Trevor sighed and rolled his eyes, then picked at a piece of orange chocolate biscotti from his friend's plate, "Gosh Carolyn, thank you SO much for your empathy! Your concern for the seriousness of my dreams has been duly noted."
"Trev, times are tough. I think your unemployment has just gotten too stressful for you to deal with, and the stress has crossed over into your sleep cycle."
Trevor removed the biscotti crumbs from his lips with the back of his sleeve, "Doctor Phil with another astute observation."
"Look, I have faith in you Trevor. You are talented and have a strong work history. You'll find a job as long as you stay positive."
Trevor chuckled, "Yeah, I'm POSITIVE I'm screwed."
Carolyn tossed a bit of biscotti off Trevor's nose and admonished, "Attitude!"
"Can I use you as a reference then?" Trevor smiled. Carolyn had always been his biggest supporter. He knew how lucky he was to have her in his life, but sometimes it seemed as if she didn't completely get him.
"Why couldn't I be a bank robber?" Trevor asked.
"Um, cuz it's illegal?"
"Well, yeah, sure. Obviously. But beyond that. I'm smart. I could totally devise some big heist and make a fortune in ill-gotten goods."
"I don't know, Trev. You're not exactly 'Criminal Mastermind' material."
She giggled, "Cuz you said 'ill-gotten' for one thing. The only criminal masterminds who say 'ill-gotten' reside in 50's era pulp comics."
"And another reason?"
All kidding slipped from her face and Carolyn rested on her elbows and leaned across the table. In a grave tone she said, "Because you are not a loser, Trevor. The only people who commit crimes are desperate losers with nothing going for them. You are not desperate, you are not a loser, and you have a lot going for you. And if you really are half as smart as you say, you would stay far away from criminal activities."
"Okay, okay. Jesus. I was just thinking out loud."
She leaned back in her wrought iron cafe stool and nibbled on the remains of her biscotti while she glared at him from beneath her scowling eyebrows. He on the other hand, looked at anything but her -- the waitress busing her own table, the meandering traffic that eased along the roadside cafe at which Trevor and Carolyn sat, the impatient dude at the crosswalk.
Finally, she asked, "Why, has someone approached you about doing something illegal?"