to keep and bear arms
I sliced at the screen door with my exacto-knife and bent the flimsy latch, which was kinda tough with dentist gloves on. I tried to keep this part as quiet as I could. You had to time these things just right.
Next, I applied a few cuts to the paint job on the actual door.
My cell was buzzing. I had my landline forwarded so that if anyone called me, I had an alibi. Of course, it wouldn’t take a whole lot of investigating to figure that particular scheme out, but there’s a reason the cops in this town are still cops in this town and it’s not because they’re winning science-fairs. It was ma anyway, and ma would alibi me even if she weren’t calling, so no need to answer.
The next part is crucial. You gotta make enough noise to wake ‘em up— and you got to stick around long enough to make sure they’re awake, but not so long you get caught or shot at.
I smashed the window, no dampener, then listened. No rustling coming from the bedroom yet. I breathed in through my nostrils so hard I practically inhaled my mustache. Step one of throwing your voice: always breathe through your nose.
“Quiet!” I shouted at myself, “You’ll wake ‘em up!”
Light on in the bedroom. Time to bolt. Easy enough not to be seen on foot— you only need a car if you’re actually going to break and enter. Convincing someone that the second amendment is worth protecting requires less of a getaway plan.
