Flurries of footsteps and herds of jackets, dozens of swinging limbs and absent minds. It was easy to see how a pickpocket could thrive in the city. 

Anthony Black stumbled out of an alley and wiped the blood from his mouth. A burst lower lip was a common feature found in his appearance, on this occasion it was accompanied by a rapidly swelling cheek. He was wholly under dressed, his pants appropriate enough, though his pockets had been turned out. His jacket had been lifted from him and his shirt bloodied, with a tear to the collar. His hair was disturbed, though easily fixed, and shoes beaten.

His attention soon turned from the fracas in the alley to the burgeoning sidewalks before him. He cracked his neck, sighed and moved swiftly through them.

A pocket watch, useful and a quick sell at a pawn shop.

His small frame twisted and turned with elegance through the crowds, his hands a blur and movements distracting.

Cigarettes, a new and welcomed vice.

He exited the crowd and crossed the street, passing by a tailor. In the stalls, neck scarves. Anthony hopped up the sidewalk and kicked a leg out from one of the stands. The owner cursed and bound to the aid of his wares. The boy moved with haste in the opposite direction, straightening his new neck scarf and concealing the bloodied tear to his garments.

His hands found a wallet and an engraved gasoline lighter on approach to a cafe. He passed a table of office business types, standing to leave for their afternoon of deceit and thievery. Anthony chose the smallest and swiped his jacket from the chair, breaking into a sprint as his arms found the sleeves.

After a few blocks, he stopped and lit a smoke, briefly checking his tail.

The boy ran a hand through his hair and his excited expression turned to one of determination, and he strode off through the streets.