This morning at (long) last something-I was robbed in a way I was fearful curious about. What happened?!
Pickpockets are a myth, almost everyone I know have an experience-with.
Pickpocket by definition "a person who steals from the pockets or handbags of others in public places"*Pick pocketing is a crime that in my universe has some nobility because the thief uses no violence or coercion but in a slightly surreptitious furtively steel with the help of a pal carrying away one goods. The stolen item, a "deluxe" half pack of cigarettes whom he could add a wallet with ID's and a dozen dollars. The freakish part is that I track the embezzlement not thinking about any wrongdoing. Reading my daily paper in a coffee shop what pops in an unintended touch far from suspicion putting me wondering for a second and after returning to the usual awakening routine.
A block away when reaching for the pack and after obsessively looking for it, suppositions and hypothesis popped then the understanding. My imaginary fictitious person is true and despite unacceptable and inadmissible is kind of an art. I cannot identify the perpetrators but know exactly when it happened. The errand quickness done with mastery technique and the little loss increase my awareness to this lower members of the crime world that I still find enigmatic.