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Johnny The Dipper pencil on paper

Johnny "Two-Step" Chandler made a halfway-decent living picking pockets, but for him, it was only partly about the money. He loved hearing the stories associated with the names "Tommy Fingers," "Thumbellina Jane," "Donald The Swap." He used to dream of hearing his own name passed around in the whispers of legends in those quiet circles of thieves who took pride in their work. Time marched on, however, and the names were whispered less and less. Nobody even picks pockets here. Nobody but commoners stealing scraps from the unsuspecting. The pangs of sadness came from the fact that the only reason to pick pockets anymore was for money; the prestige was gone and the money didn't compare to what a fellow could make with a regular clock-in-clock-out, paycheck-doling jobby-job. Went the way of snake oil peddler, the circus strongman, the fortune teller. The last secret heroes of a dusty sepia-toned America got shuffled heartlessly into the category of "Criminals."