Walking the streets of Manhattan aimlessly for the next meal, I look at the up-and-coming folk that pass me by. I can hear their pockets full of treasure, just begging to be taken. I can see a woman's wallet just poking outside her purse, just waiting to be stolen and abused by me. There was a twenty dollar bill poking out of a man's coat pocket so delicately. "He wouldn't notice, would he?" I ask myself these questions in the hope that I can convince myself that I have nothing to lose.  With the divorce I lost everything precious to me. My kids, home, and job were all that was left of my life. With those things now gone, I have been reduced to being as low and vile as the dirt that surrounds my radius. I don't want to do something I know is wrong, but would they really care if I took it if they knew I needed it more than they did?
        Looking around, I see the blank expressions on everyone's faces. All they do is wake up, go to work, come home, and fall asleep, only to repeat the cycle for all eternity. "What is their secret?" I mutter to myself in self-contempt. How is it that I try to be the better man and always be righteous in my life and this is how society treats me? All I wanted was the average American life, but no, I have to be dealt a bad hand in life. Now I must walk the streets, begging for food and pocket change like a mutt scourging dumpsters for the latest grub.
        Negative thinking begins to affect me, as now my walking has become irregular. Luckily I am still part of the crowd of hundreds and nobody would care enough to even notice, but just me knowing is enough to multiply the intensity of the nervousness. Concocting a plan to mug someone seems so petty, but people do it for similar reason, for most, if given the chance, would choose an alternative if there was one. Looking around my urban environment, I notice a man with a top hat walking along the side-walk with a cane that almost looked like God crafted it just for him with its ivory handle and oak shaft. "An easy target I suppose." Passing me, I begin to tail behind just far enough so that he cannot see me but close enough to keep an eye on him.
         This man seems a bit too...happy unlike everyone else that surrounds his position. He sometimes has a skip to his step and sometimes greets strangers with a "Hello," and a "Good day sir." Tap...tap....tap...tap. His cane makes a repetitive noise that I can hear clearly through all the commotion around me. Scanning his body, I don't really see anything of peculiar interest but that cane. Even the top hat looks a bit thrifty even though it fits the man's fashion sense. My demeanor still does not diminish as I watch this care-free man help out an old lady cross the street or toss a few coins in some beggar's cup. Tap...tap...tap...tap. That cane seems to be the most valuable item on his person.
        "If I must, I guess this'll have to do."
        Tailing the old man, I notice he takes a turn into an alleyway, the perfect, if not clichéd, spot for a mugging. Reaching into my pocket, I feel for my pen knife that I kept on me ever since I was a little boy. Funny, I am about to commit the pettiest of crimes with a tool that most people would laugh at. My stomach growling from being mistreated, I begin to enter the dark and dank alleyway.
        The old man is just standing there in the open. "Did he see me?" Questions of suspicion begin to come but I disregard them as my animal instinct to find a way out of this hellhole begins to kick in. Approaching the old man, I try to catch his attention because I want to be able to commit this sin as quickly as possible. "Hey old man can you turn around for me?" Almost hurts to even say these words. The old man, beginning to turn on his heel, has his head lowered to the point of covering his face. Knowing that not being able to see his face makes enduring this a little bit, if not by much, easier. "I want that cane you got there. Why don't you just toss it to me and we can end this as quickly as possible." I don't want to hurt the old man, that is for sure, but if I want to continue this miserable life in the hopes of getting a break, I must do what it takes. Within breathing distance of the old man, I can hear little voices in the air. "What are you saying old man?"
        As the question echoes through the alleyway, so too, does my humanity, for I have sunken so low as to mug an old man. But this white noise in the air still bothers me. I almost want to believe angels are nearby, whispering to each other as to what may happen next. Are they here for the old man? Snapping back into reality, I say what every want to-be mugger hears on TV. "Give me the cane and nobody gets hurt." Still no response. "Hey! I am talking to you!" Becoming infuriated, and to put fear into the elderly man, I pull out my pen knife, as childish as it looks. 'If I must, I guess this'll have to do.' The words ring into my head over and over as if to tell me I should have been more prepared for something like this. Most muggers and criminals are caught because of laziness or not having the right equipment for the job. To incite fear, I begin to reach for his top hat to throw onto the ground. "Take it." The old man speaks.
        My hand, inches away from his hat, freeze in place. "Alright just hand it to me and this will be all over." The old man reveals the elegant cane from his side and presents it to me. Wanting to get away easier, I hide away my pathetic knife to be able to make room for my hands. Reaching out for the cane, my vision becomes blurry. "What is this?" I mutter to myself in confusion. My own heart beat begins to accelerate at an alarming rate. Looking down, I notice something new in the old man's hand: a blade with an ivory handle on it.
        "How in the..." The adrenaline rush from the mugging must still be in effect, for I feel nothing but this pinching feeling in my abdomen. Still frozen in place, I am able to see the now-revealed face of this apparently nimble man. His complexion almost looks like what a mummy would look like if you put make-up to cover what was left of it. A very fuzzy beard covers half of his face. The most noticeable feature was his eyes. They were a glossy brown with an almost perfected look to it, as if they were made of porcelain. I then realize this man was indeed blind. As my imagination is running amok, I notice the man wasn't talking, but I could still hear the voices. Then a terrible idea begins to form in my head: the angels were not here for the old man, but for me. Am I going mad?
        The old man just stares towards me, as if he was trying to look through me. I can hear the blade being removed; everything from cartilage to blood vessels being torn in one quick, swift motion. He begins to sheath his hidden blade and begins to walk off into the abyss of the alleyway while I stand frozen in the same position from trying to reach for his cane. Paralyzed, my mind begins to fade into an abyss of its own. I keep thinking to myself what went wrong; what could have I done differently? Before my mind begins to disappear from my brain, all I can hear, apart from my slowing heart rate, is this noise I am too well familiar with: tap...tap...tap...tap.