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Break-fast

It's breaking and entering. Vinny's coming in through the first floor window and crossing the kitchen into the living room, headed for an oak desk in the corner. Nice statue of The Thinker, but he needs cash. Okay, judge him but Jesus wouldn't - if you knew how hungry he is, you'd give him a dollar, bless your heart: he wouldn't complain. People leave their credit cards in the top drawer and the checkbook beside it. Today, the drawer slides open and he's greeted by two twenties, slides them into the upper pocket and leaves Discover. No cards desired today, just an Arby's Real Roast Beef with Cheddar, the Big one, and a Coke, the Big one, no ice (they come cold).

Footsteps on the stairs so he leaves the checkbook, backpedals past the exercise bike draped with khakis, past the kitchen where the blender smells like whiskey and two shot glasses sit side by side. Vinny hesitates, then takes the box of Krispy Kreme and tucks it under his arm. They'll wonder, "Where the heck did we put those donuts?" They'll say "Donuts don't just disappear!"

Vinny's stepping over her sweater, and at the door he hears them rounding the stairwell corner, with morning chitchat. He slides a warm coat off the rack, over the donuts a black coat and no one will tag it as theirs... there's time, even, to go out the door and close it gently.

It's beautiful day in the neighborhood and the little circle of townhouses seems to smile. He closes the window through which he entered.

Story by:

Sandy Hiortdahl

www.sandyhiortdahl.com

18 October 2013