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The plan works for a while. Tom searches out streets and then I go to work “cleaning.” Perhaps it is Tom’s skill in selecting the area, more likely ’tis with my small stature (thanks to a childhood one crumb away from starvation) I be near invisible.
This isn’t Tom’s only skill. We go into a bar; I’d tell a tale and with skillful fingers Tom flitches wallets from drunken patrons. With practice, my storytelling skills improve, and I can time it so that with a signal from Tom, I spin out a yarn that draws the attention of the crowd to me while he goes to work. It’s easy as fishing with a fat worm in a pond squirming with hungry fish.
We do good enough that I can replace me cloggy shoes with better and my belly no complain much. I hand me mum a coin here and there that she ties in a scr
