I walked past the flowering quince on my way to the subway this morning, and there was someone kind of in it. Ooh, I thought, the quince owner, at last! Then snap!snap!snap! from inside the shrub. Quince owner was breaking branches off. Like, breaking.
Hmm, not the way most quince owners behave...Then, Hey! Quince Weasel! Are you stealing??? I asked the skinny dude who emerged from the quince furtively. Hee hee, he giggled, Yeah. That's not cool! I spat in my best American. I used to be a florist, he lisped, I'm taking them to a better place [away from the mulch, maybe?]. He scuttled off down the sidewalk ahead of me, was about to cross Court Street [in the direction of his real home???], thought better of it and turned left. Only then did I think to whip out the trusty Canon. M**!!@ %***#!!!!*&%r! Little bearded pointy-booted weasel boy.