His wallet twitched.
He spun and snatched the offender by the wrist, holding it up high. The arm was scrawny and scratched and smudged with dirt. It was attached to a small child who was equally scrawny, equally dirty.
Ramon was ready to rip this thief a new one. He didn’t take kindly to those making a living fleecing gullible tourists. He had even less patience when it was his pocket being picked.
But the big sad eyes and the small filthy face caught him off guard. The guilt overwhelmed.
“Here, kid,” he said, peeling off a twenty.
“Take it.”
The Weekday One Hundred 