You were a pickpocketer, a good one and a sly one. You always managed to get away with pickpocketing. Peter Parker was your weakness, he was the only one who could sense when you had nicked something off his body.

At school, you had been pickpocketed stuff from Peter all day, he hadn’t noticed. Until after school, Peter dragged you to a back alley and pinned you up against the wall, his arm on your throat, his fist grabbing your shirt.

“Give the stuff back.” Peter said.