Fear, or maybe outrage at such an outlandish accusation and the stranger's sticky fingers in his pockets, might have been a more appropriate response than an excited smile, but smile Bobby did; with a hand pressed to one cheek, acknowledging his shame. "I guess I need more practice, right?" he said brightly as he smoothed out his hair. "I mean," he corrected, setting his mouth into a hard line, "I'm sorry, sir, it won't happen again." It wasn't a well controlled expression.
The hand from his head fluttered a little towards his wallet, more of a request than a demand, before he caught it. "Other people aren't," was the explanation for the bottle opener, with a step back away from the better thief to display proudly the uniform of hopeful actors across the city-- black shirt, black trousers, comfortable shoes. "And I guess I should stick to my day job, huh?"