Dudes who’ve aced introductory psychology have told me there is more to shoplifting than meets the eye, but I honestly don’t see it. I don’t feel like I’m defying parental authority, lah-di-dah, when I score the odd item from a supermarket shelf (when my dad said he was minding the store, he was talking about a B-52 bomber), I don’t feel I’m expressing a death wish neither, if anything the contrary is the case, I am expressing a life wish inasmuch as I always eat what I steal.
So I happened to be patrolling the aisles of the E-Z Mart, slipping the occasional luxury item over my lecherous shoulder into the hidden compartment in my cloth backpack, it was the day of the summer solstice, the single hand on my Swiss watch which tells the phas
