The Thief of Mervill Ave.

I am the best thief to ever walk the Earth, but it’s not for the size nor value of my loot. Sure, there are precious jewel burglars and bank robbers who potentially score enough dough after each raid to live luxuriously for seventy lifetimes, but as much as teachers and employers want to make you believe, there are better things than money. Just listen to these words of mine, I’m an egomaniac and it’s fucking fantastic, and for the most part free.

All it took was a Lego soldier toy in my pocket when I was five to awaken me to the world of thievery. Since then, I’ve stolen countless household items: pencils, notebooks, dictionaries, silverware, lotion bottles, toasters, and even washers and driers – and I have yet to be caught. Even better: I won’t be caught. I am just too good for some pathetic hidden camera or security system.

Sure you can argue that I am literally invisible to the living, but what good can technicalities bring to the situation? So what if I died after choking on that little Lego man when I was five? There’s no getting past my flawless record.

Okay, correction: I am the best thief to ever haunt the Earth. If dwelling on technicalities is what makes you happy, I’d advise you to find a different hobby.

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