i'm the kind of human wreckage that you love
The nature of Rigby's profession was not surprising, he seemed just the type for it. With a moniker like street rat what more could be expected? But Milo insisted on poking fun, smirking past his light with an amused hum. A twig, yep sounded bout right, "I amaze myself," he drawled, content with the description.
Milo mentioned the observational skills of most Torchers, people in general. And wasn't it the truth? Many of his best steals were in broad daylight, walking by and lifting a pouch from a belt, switching a rock for a coin in someone's pocket. Everyone was always so busy socializing and trusting in their own perceptions to notice the scrawny boy and his wandering hands. Once something was stolen it was so easy to blend into the shadows, down an alley or up onto a roof.
The redhead probably knew how it was, smuggling wasn't that different. "It's what we count on," Rigby replied, smothering his cigarette against the stone.
Milo mentioned the observational skills of most Torchers, people in general. And wasn't it the truth? Many of his best steals were in broad daylight, walking by and lifting a pouch from a belt, switching a rock for a coin in someone's pocket. Everyone was always so busy socializing and trusting in their own perceptions to notice the scrawny boy and his wandering hands. Once something was stolen it was so easy to blend into the shadows, down an alley or up onto a roof.
The redhead probably knew how it was, smuggling wasn't that different. "It's what we count on," Rigby replied, smothering his cigarette against the stone.
RIGBY
