The spoils

Last night, double-h and I robbed for the first time in our lives. We'd seen the suitcase earlier in the day, calling out to us from the bottom of a personal junk-dumpster in a cul-de-sac near our house. It was double-h hatched the plan. We'd go out under cover of darkness, when the street had said its goodnights. That blue vintage suitcase would be ours come sun-up.
The hours passed slowly. Ten...eleven...eleven-fifteen...it was time. We crept out the front door, I in my old black-and-blue slicker, h in our mom's black bunnyhug. The streetlamps were brighter than I'd anticipated, and I began to get cold feet. But double-h knew what she was doing, dodging like a spider behind trees and lampposts, crouching in the shadows of parked minivans. It was a struggle, but soon our target came into view. The giant metal behemoth loomed before us like a giant metal behemoth. It was much bigger up close, and boomed under our weight as we strained to lean over the edge. Futile. The suitcase was just out of reach. I heaved a great sigh, then in a rare bout of courage and athleticism, vaulted over the edge. A hollow crash resounded as I landed among the broken glass and pink insulation. Our hearts were in our throats. Like greased lightning I pitched the suitcase over the edge. Right on cue, double-h caught it deftly, I tumbled out of the dumpster, and we bolted home giggling like a couple of schoolgirls.



(Man, what gives? No severed head, no million dollars, no sacks of cocaine or confiscated handguns. Just a few mysterious stains that may or may not be blood. This neighbourhood blows.)

(PS: sorry for all of the above. I thought it might make a good story...)