STEALING

I woke with a start this morning, and found myself sleeping next to Mel, a “business associate” of mine. She's a botanist by trade. She has a master’s degree, but she also has a very limited and specific clientele. I think I've said enough.
I sat up very quickly and said, “What's going on?” before I was fully awake. I tried to go back to sleep, but my mouth was unbelievably dry. The dirty little two-fold thought that popped into my skull had naught to do with the beautiful woman beside me, and everything to do with money.
A) I had none.
B) I desperately needed to acquire some.
I toyed with the notion of breaking into all the businesses I had ever held jobs at in this town, grabbing the $150 in petty cash that I knew each of them held overnight, and catching the first bus out of town in the morning. But there is nothing like announcing your intentions and identity to the whole of the population.
I know a few places with slot machines, but how much luck could you expect to stumble upon with $10 in quarters? How could you place your bet on one lousy roll of change that you could pack your fist with?
I kept thinking about stealing, and getting money to pay off my bills and maybe get some food. I hate owing anybody anything. There must be more to life. I can't do this for the next how-the-fuck-ever-many years, until I retire from a long and unglamorous line of McJobs, never having anything, always wishing and dreaming and whispering my wants into my two clenched fists. Always jealous, always bitter. Wasting away in Margaritaville. I can't keep selling my 9-to-5 soul until I'm too old to go on, and have nothing left for those last few years, when I begin to slowly fall apart and life becomes cruel and I become color-blind.
I got up, drank two huge glasses of Kool-Aid and had some more water. Just chugged it down. The whole apartment felt so dry. I turned on the TV with the sound down, watched cartoons and listened to music. Waiting. But for what?