A wealthy way of living

Handres Elliot Gregwend. My uncle. He died about a year ago, at 102. My mother still wonders about him.

Uncle Hans was Father's brother. He was the pickpocket of the state. He never passed a block without picking something up. Once, Uncle Hans gave me a beautiful pocket watch, gold. It was perfect. He gave my brother a pretty watch, and my three sisters each got jewelry. Later, we took the accessories to a jeweler, and he told us they were real, about thirty carats each.

Uncle Hans never disappointed us. Mom tells us that the only reason he became a pickpocket was because of his daughter, Pilliot-Rose. She was seventeen when she died. Uncle Hans was thirty, around. Our uncle got married very young, maybe fifteen. Our Aunt Elena passed away in June of 1897. Then, a week later, Dad's sister died, along with Hans' dog. Then Rose. A month later, a burglar suck into the house and killed her.

After that, Uncle Hans lost his house. He was begging on the streets for a year. We took him in for a while, but then had to have him out, as our lawyer saw and reminded us that our house was signed to have only seven people living in it, not eight.

Then Uncle Hans started. Back on the streets, when someone would walk by, he would grab a chain or a necklace from their pocket. They wouldn't even notice, in their frilly layered dresses, or engaged in conversation. Then her began wooing people, and engaging in conversation, making the victim less suspecting as he nabbed a watch in their jacket, or a clap on bracelet.

But I'm trying for something even bigger. Mother used to say, "Good heavens, if another Hans is born, I would not live to see him! Oh, Richard, stop eavesdropping. I'm glad our children aren't raised like poor Hans. Oh, Pilliot Rose."

And yet here I am, living in a large, luxurious house, the size of a third of an apartment building. All because of pickpocketing.

Uncle Hans taught me a few times. Showed me some tricks. He wooed a couple of hot women in expensive stuff, and let me talk lost and stole some guy's pocket watch. I got a few tips, and used that to my advantage. Every day after school, I'd go on the streets and pickpocket. And I got a couple of pounds out of it, too.

And here I am, six years later, a journalist and a pickpockets. Mom said pickpockets couldn't go very far. Like Uncle Hans. But I like to say I went farther than most. And Uncle Hans was skilled. But I daresay I exceeded his expectations, and was worth much more than any pickpocket ever has been. I's more wealthy. More skilled. Beyond Uncle Hans' and others' wildest dreams.

I am Richard Gregwend-Allen.