“The Spark Plug Heist”

I didn't need the spark plugs... 

I just wanted them.

NAPA Auto Parts closes at 9. I arrived at 8:59 with a plan, a matchbook, and a level of confidence I did not deserve.

The clerk was sweeping the floor. I slipped in behind a cardboard display of wiper blades and waited. He locked the door. 

Perfect.

I moved like a shadow. A very loud, very clumsy shadow.

Spark plugs glimmered on the shelf like tiny chrome treasures. I grabbed a handful, stuffed them into my tool belt, and made for the back door — only to discover it was locked so I improvised.

I climbed the shelves. I jumped onto the counter. I hit the light switch. The entire store went dark except for the emergency exit sign glowing red like a devil’s grin.

I bolted. 

The clerk screamed. 

I screamed louder.

It was a whole thing.

I escaped into the night with twelve spark plugs, a bruised rib, and a sense of accomplishment that no raccoon should ever feel.

I still don’t know what I’m going to do with them. 

But they’re mine. And that’s enough.