“Man, oh, man, Louie, I can’t believe how easy that dude with the glasses went down.”

“That guy on Main Street? I know what you’re talking about, Rocko. I mean, I saw you knee him in the groin, but I didn’t think he was going to hit the pavement that easy. But what really amazes me is that no one tried to stop us.”

“Told you, Louie. That’s life in the big city. No one wants to get involved. You find a busy street corner, pick your target, knock him down, and take his concert tickets. What could be easier?”

“You said it, Rocko. Like this morning when I clubbed that guy waiting for the bus. Such easy work for a pair of John Mellencamp tickets.”

“Ain’t that the truth? The same goes for that little old lady I sucker-punched for those Ashlee Simpson tickets. There we were, in the middle of a thriving metropolis, high noon, no less, and not one person tried to stop me.”

“This is definitely the life, Rocko. I mean, not only do we get to mug innocent people, but we also get to beat them up, take their tickets for U2 or Seal, and no one, absolutely no one tries to stop us.”

“Yeah. In fact, I don’t know which I like better, Louie. Knocking them down or taking their tickets. I feel so… so… Evil!”

“I think I know what I like best, Rocko. I like it when they just look up at the sky as if they were praying. As if some divine intervention is going to swoop out of the wild blue yonder and save them from me snatching their tickets. Just like that guy I mugged coming out of the health club. He kept looking up at the sky while I relieved him of his Gov’t Mule tickets. I don’t know what gets into these people.”

“Who cares as long as we get their concert tickets? Which reminds me, Louie. How many pairs of tickets have you snatched so far today?”

“Well, Rocko. I grabbed a pair of David Lee Murphy tickets from that guy I tripped up while he was getting out of the cab this morning. Then I knocked over that hot dog vendor for his BlackHawk tickets. And just about an hour ago I lifted a pair of Gretchen Wilson tickets that lady had hidden underneath her kid in the baby stroller.”

“Steeling tickets from a baby, eh, Louie? Sweet!”

“Easy as pie, Rocko. How about you?”

“Pretty good haul, today, Louie. A pair of British Sea Power tickets from that guy I hit with my blackjack. Some Lisa Loeb tickets from that joker I kicked in the butt, and a pair of tickets for Green Day from that guy whose jaw I rearranged in that alley next to that restaurant. Oh, and whatever is in this dude’s wallet. You know, that guy who I just mugged out there on Main Street?”

“The one with the glasses who went down without a fight in front of all those people? Open up his wallet, Rocko. Let’s see what he was carrying.”

“Hmmm… Tickets for Elton John, the Eagles, Motley Crue and Jimmy Buffett.”

“Pretty good haul there, Rocko. Anything else?”

“Hmmm… Looks as if he’s a newspaper reporter. There’s a press pass in his wallet. Made out to someone named… lessee… Kent. Clark Kent. Geez… What a wimpy name. A real loser. Uh, what are you looking at, Louie?”

“I’m not sure, Rocko. What’s that up in the sky?”