2004-11-10 - 12:53 p.m.

Not through any fault of my own, I�ve been coming into work slightly earlier than usual for the past two mornings. It might not be true, but it does sometimes seem like there are incremental shifts in the morning routine, and leaving ten minutes earlier means that you find yourself sharing the streets with a just slightly different set of people.

The people I found myself sharing the streets with for the last two days have mainly been bread thieves.

For two days running, I have seen two people approach two different Italian restaurants in two different shifty manners, dip their filthy thieving paws into the brown delivery bags full of hot bready goodies that have yet to be taken in by the still-closed establishments, and steal away into the commuter throngs with a floury bap or warm sour dough, looking as though baked goods theft were the most normal thing in the world.

The weird thing is that these people just look like people on their way to work. They are not starving tramps with a cruel predilection for herbed loaves, but simple passers-by, with brief cases and, you imagine, access to money, which they could easily exchange for an oven fresh focaccia through the normal channels.

The first guy did look like a beardy lout in a suit, but was obviously an office worker, and after a leisurely perusal of the bag�s contents, he came away with a loaf that was so long, he had to fold it up to get it into his rucksack. I imagine him surreptitiously unfolding it little by little from under his desk, chewing guiltily on a continual doughy conveyor belt of dishonesty.

The second was a woman, also in a suit and with a leather satchel. She was more timid, and dipped her hand in quickly, coming away with a bread roll. She disappeared into the crowds just as the swarthy owner opened his door to take in the delivery. He could see that the bag had been opened, but as he surveyed the crowds, it was impossible to spot the wheat-tolerant interloper.

I suspect it�s something of a risky enterprise, ripping off Italian grub-jockeys. Surely there must be a bread theft wing of the Mafia, forever dishing out retribution to those who have dipped foolishly into their sacks? Will the thieves be found in a gutter, apparent victims of assualt and ciabatta-ry? Will they sleep with the (loves and the) fishes?