Professional Thief

You were a repeating graphic in bed. Smoke in, smoke out. There were three packets emptied come four a.m., when a car too silent for a naïve soul to hear parked in your driveway, eyes peering into windows.

The first mission was accomplished. To muddle your memory with nicotine clouds and make you forget all about sunless morning hours and sleep.

The second mission was quick. All she had to do was slit your zipper and work her way inside. She reached into your breast until she found what she was looking for.

She left and your ribs felt empty.