The couple slid closer together and their voices dropped down to little more than whispers. “It’s just there,” he said. “We should take it.”
Finders keepers, beyotches!
The paper. The. Frakking. Newspaper. He wants to steal the newspaper.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I mean, are they really free to take?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Why else would they have them just sitting out like this?”
“Well, it is a nice looking paper,” she says. “Maybe it’s OK if we take one.”
And I can’t take it anymore: I violate the Prime Directive and interfere with the natives. “How about I buy the paper for you,” I ask.
They both look at me as if I asked them to watch me skin live puppies while listening to Barry Manilow records. Then, without saying a word, they shuffle out never to be seen again.
And they didn’t even steal the paper. Amateurs.