The noises of two men scurrying, one holding the object of desire, one going after it to place it back where it was found. The footsteps intertwined, the paths never colliding, but like cat and mouse, the hunt continues.
The mouse's actions taken reminded me of somebody forgotten a while ago -- myself. A younger me, who was up to the same, but not out of the apparent boredom this one had, but with a stick of bread being hidden in a coat, wandering away with it, not because I couldn't pay for it, but because the mind felt too fogged at the time to even realize where I was going with it. It was an incident of sorts, while I still had a room at that orphanage. Whispered words while I apologized for shoplifting. A dissociative episode, and hopes that I would not fall under such a thing again.
But this was no experience led from the unwell mind. The mind was unwell, but stained with delinquency with this example, rather than fog. And the chase continued, eyes on his prize, the trident stolen. Only the small fish that grazed the windows of higher buildings would ever know how he had arranged himself to even take such an object. It's twice his size, twice his weight, and a hazard to even carry.
Makes how he still was on the verge of escape even more of a confusion.
And eventually, we were at the sharp-edge corner of an alleyway in this chase, with him taking a soft curve in the middle of the edge. My own plan was hatched different, and I went towards the wall leading to nowhere but pain, jumping up, over, slamming claw into floor first before the rest of my body followed. But there was tricks up the prosthetic that even I hadn't known at the time, and the trick was what knocked the theft off his own legs, onto the floor, turning the body over to face me, and staying there in an apparent fear, accepting defeat.