He is on a weekend excursion in the French Quarters of New Orleans. He strolls along the streets, now and then, stops where the sound of music emits or a specialty store of peculiar things or the smell of food draws him to a delicious meal. During these stops, he pays by removing his wallet from a back pocket of his trousers, holds it with one hand while the other hand handles a bill that he gives to the receiver then accepts the change. He returns the wallet to the pocket.
The pickpocket does his thievery with stealth amongst a crowd. He is sure that the man shall not notice for minutes.
In a secluded alleyway, not even a dog gives him away to others. He gets the wallet from its concealment then reaches into the cash compartment and feels a prick against his finger that only gets an "ouch" from him. He takes out a bill, notices something not right about the fifty dollar currency. He examines it, sees that the other side is blank with words written on it. 'If you're not the punk who ruined my family's vacation this past summer well, I'm not sorry. He has trouble breathing so he coughs to remedy the problem. He stops breathing.