In the dark, Scott and Hank met. They snaked through the hot alleys to the corner of C and 16. Scott silently pointed upwards at the window of a vacant apartment. There it was. Valued more than they made in a lifetime. How it managed to go unnoticed was a miracle.
Hank picked the lock and entered the building, creeping up to 306. The place was empty, except for the box. He had a rope, but the window was jammed. The noise woke a neighbor who cursed him. He shushed her with apologies as she tossed urine at him through the open window.
Quickly, Hank tied the rope around the unit and lowered it to Scott. Sweat and tears ran down his face. Together, they carried the stolen unit through the streets. People watched curiously, no one disputed them. Scott’s wife woke as they bumbled through the door.
“Have you been drinking?” She asked. “Where you getting money to drink?”
“No,” Scott exploded, as he uncovered the windmill 8300 AC unit.
“Idiots,” she mumbled, rolling herself over on the mattress. “If it don’t blow the box and kill the lights, ya’ll be robbing banks forever to pay that bill.”
About the Creator
I’m an advocate for education and equal health care. I love satire. I love to express myself through art and writing. Social issues fascinate and astound me. Co-founder of Art of Recycle.