Hat bill pulled low, knife tucked in the sleeve of her fleece pullover, she walks with her accomplice casually down the sidewalk, endpoint in sight.
Approaching it, she looks sideways at the group of bicycle riders across the street to gauge their interest in her. None.
As her accomplice stands watch, she bends, knife sliding from her sleeve and severs the young stalk.
She quickly stands and they hurry back to the others waiting.
She holds up her conquest as they enter the room.
“Great, you found some rosemary for the baked pears.”