The Thief With a Bellyache

The hungry thief made the most of the slim pickings he found in the remote cabin. He made a sandwich to go with stale bread and some dubious leftovers from the nearly empty refrigerator. He hadn’t targeted the dwelling in the woods, it came as a chance encounter while fleeing the police. His last heist came at a home with a sophisticated alarm system. One that sent a silent alert to the security company, which immediately notified the police. Exiting through the backdoor, he barely alluded the cops coming in the front door. He’d made a good haul there too–that he had to drop in order to run. He didn’t even have time to get into his car, parked around the corner and down the block.

Fortunately for him, the small town cops were on the portly side. They ran after him into the woods but soon tired of the chase. He kept going, eventually getting into the secluded site of the cabin. Nothing worth stealing here that could be carried on foot. He rested a bit after the food. As he prepared to leave, his stomach began churning. At least he had managed to take his bag of burglar tools when he evaded the police. Along with the picks, knives, pry bar and what he used to enter homes, he had the cure for what ailed him–a bottle of Klepto Bismol.

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