2003 was the year that I stole things.
I had just turned 20 years old and into my second year of what would turn out to be five long years of university.
And I stole.
It was mostly small trivial things; an apple from the market stall while the grocer was preoccupied opening boxes of mandarins, the morning newspaper from the neighbour's front yard in the early morning, a shot of tequila from a bar top, the cutlery left on the outside table of a swanky restaurant or even a free ride on the rickety trams down Swanston street.
It was all taken for nothing. And it felt good.
In the summer I mostly stole fruit. The stone fruits are a lovely size for concealment and the benefits were instant and delicious. Towards the winter months I began to venture into the large shopping complexes, walking in and out of stores and absently pocketing random objects. Thicker jackets and layers of clothing always made things easier. And then came spring.
It was in spring that I got caught.
I don't think she even cared.
2 comments:
Kjingo, you not only steal fruit, you try to steal other people's blogmaster titles, that's the worst of all your stealing!
you did not really do it, right?
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