what the prosthesis says to the missing leg; solo [blitz]

Robin gave me nothing to work with and then asked me why I could never pick up the slack.

(“You’re so useless, Kip.”

“Yeah, well you’re not any better.”

“At least I find us jobs.”

“You can look at any goddamn thing you want but that doesn’t make it yours.”)

Bullshit is bullshit and I am not, have not, will never be a fan of it. Robin and I worked well together, and I knew that his words were nothing more than frustrations in other places being centrally located on my mistakes. But, this was knowledge that did not excuse actions and for this reason, I was attempting a catch on my own.

There was a home the two of us had been scoping for the last week over— watching times of desolation, points for entry and exit— the standard pre-theft procedure.

I had made my way there this morning with no precise object in mind; I only knew that I needed to come out of there with something recognizable, something with no question of origin.

We had determined that the woman left there at ten every morning for some obligation that required her attention for an hour over, and this was ample time for the task at hand.

I moved to the side of the house and cracked the glass as quietly as the task could be done before removing the pieces and tossing them in a garbage bag I had brought along. I was in the process of removing the screen when footsteps to my right catch my ear.

The sight of girl with peaked interest causes an expletive to leave my tongue before I turn to face her fully, “The fuck are you doing around here at ten in the morning— don’t you know people are busy?”