Who's this dude with his hand in my pocket?

The other day I was coming back from the coffee-
shop down the street when some weirdo stuffed his
hand into my coat pocket. I was listening to my
headphones and daydreaming pretty seriously, so
I didn’t notice when he snuck up behind me. By the
time I was aware of his presence, he was already
feeling around in there. I spun around and he stop-
ped, at which point we had the following enlightening
exchange:

ME: What the fuck? What the fuck?

WEIRDO: Ssssssorrry...

ME: I mean, what the fuck? What the fuck was that?

WEIRDO: I’m going. I’m going. I’m cool.

He then brushed by me and hurried on down the road. He
was tall and skinny and he smelled quite bad. I figured he
was drunk and had no idea what he was doing. Otherwise
he was the worst pickpocket in the history of the universe
and, if that was the case, he deserved my pity more than my
abuse. All he was going to get out of that pocket was a handful
of boogery kleenex anyway, so no harm done.

This is, by the way, the second in my series of "crazy people
accosting me on the way home from the coffeeshop" posts.
The first is here.