In the afternoon I walked down to the beach to cool off in the breeze. As I sat there an old fellow came up and warned me to watch out for thieves. I appreciated his concern though I had no idea what a thief looked like, as I suspected they did not go about in daylight wearing masks as they helpfully did in comic books. A short time later I was standing on the beach watching minimally-clad young women frolic on the sand and a young fellow walked up to me and grabbed the banknotes I had in my shirt pocket, tearing the shirt.
Perhaps seeing my walking stick he had thought he might plunder me with impunity and paused a few paces away, not considering that the stick actually increased my reach, and I caught the rascal squarely on the side of the skull with the knobby cane, just above the ear, where the flesh is thinnest over the bone, and it made a most satisfactory whacking sound. The young miscreant ran off in pain and, since the handful of inflated banknotes he made off with were worth only pennies, I though it a completely fair exchange.
I was planning to leave the city the next day and so I was not concerned lest we meet again when he might have his henchmen with him.
And I did rather enjoy the whole thing. Surprising, what one learns when you travel.