the day everyone became a thief

One day a young scallywag found himself watching an older lad as he snacked on a fine-looking pastry. Hungry, as he was, this frosted treat looked to the young fellow like the most beautiful thing in the world.

'Where did you get that?'

The boy asked, lustily.

'In the bakers.'

The older fellow replied.

'They're terribly expensive of course, but that doesn't matter for, you see, I am a thief.'

The young lad frowned.

'You just take it? Doesn't the baker see you?'

'They never see me; I'm too clever for them'

The older lad said as he brushed the crumbs from his lap.

'And if they do- I just make a run for it. I'm too fast for them too, you see'

The young lad carried these words with him all through town, till his feet (under the shady influence his stomach) had brought him to the market district. He weighed each establishment carefully before selecting one; using not the quality or surface beauty of the produce as his metric, but the likelihood of capture should the worst happen. Eventually he settled on a simple bread bakery located in the busier end of the precinct-which nevertheless was unoccupied, save for the lonely old poltroon who owned the place and who was currently dozing behind the counter.

What struck the young lad as strange, later, was just how easy it had been. He had galloped back across town with his prize- terrified, elated, not daring to look back much less think about what had happened. But now, as he sat chewing the loaf, he reflected that really, he had come by his prize too easily. The thought resurfaced later, as he sat eating a delicious tart he'd rescued from an upmarket french patisserie in a slightly more daring sortie. It was while contemplating his third trip of the day (he was no longer hungry, you understand, but had discovered something wonderful and new that he was good at) that he was approached by one of his fellow urchins:

'Where did you get that pie?'

'It wasn't a pie, it was a fancy tart. And I got it from the market. I'm a thief now.'

And so it happened that our hero had company as he made his third expedition to the market that day.

'Now, you stay here and watch how it's done.'

He arrived back a short time later and only faintly flushed, his mouth half-full of flapjack, and proffering a bagel proudly.

'That looked easy.'

Said the friend, unimpressed

'I bet I could do that- and I'd get something better than a crummy bagel.'

All of which rather dampened our young miscreant's exaltations. The mood continued in this vein when, very soon thereafter, his friend returned with a china plate piled with fresh cream scones.

It is a terrible blow for an aspirant to be cut down so completely, in the very first flush of ambition, our hero thinks, before ruminating for the third time today (ruefully this time) on how very very easy this theft malarky really is. His friend meanwhile, having consumed as many of the scones as his gut would bear, had been open-handedly distributing the balance to those who looked at him askance (of whom there were many; street urchins freely providing delicious pastries not being en vogue at the time). When quizzed on where he came by such delicacies, he would off-handedly declare 'I took it from the market, for I'm a thief', which, of course, set our hero's teeth to gnashing.

It so happened that many of the recipients of these cost-free dainties were themselves en route to the markets; ostensibly to purchase the produce therein in exchange for currency; but now it occurs to them that they too, surely, have the wits and deftness to simply reach out and take what they want, should they choose to do so. Some of these people simply smiled inwardly and dismissed the idea; others did not.

Put simply, by midafternoon the market was a veritable stew of pilferage. The shopkeepers had never seen the like. And they daren't chase after anyone they caught red-handed, since upon their return they'd see that the other thieves had been industriously working their advantage. The old gentleman-baker you may remember from earlier in our story? He was the first to run out of stock. Something that had not happened in his 50 years at the shop. He didn't even have the last of the day's iced treats to bring home to his wife, as was his custom. Locking up the shop early, he took his leave of the market district, trying not to notice they giddy electricity amongst the shoppers, as they gorged themselves on stolen food.