If they are not used, or ignored – maybe abused or neglected.
They fall from the conscious mind lying dormant, hibernating until they are sparked again. Needed again. Relied upon again.
When I was a kid, an adolescent really. A tortured teenager on the estate I stole for all reasons but poverty. I stole because I could. Because I wanted to. Because I was bored.
It wasn’t in isolation either. I stole with Mike. My best friend.
We stole shirts, shoes and all the music we could lay our hands on. We loved books and movies, hats and sunglasses. Chocolate and alcohol fuelled a summer bathing on the old school yard rich with our spoils and smug in the last real summer sun I can remember.
A long decade ago.
Stealing was our shopping.
Then we stopped. One or two many close encounters. We were asking a lot from luck, permanent requests and citations, we danced on a very thin patch of land that seemed eternally blessed from harm.
We faked fires, used decoys and hired circus performers to assist in our more and more outrageous and outlandish behaviour and all for a few more spoils.
So we stopped. Before anything bad happened and besides – it stopped being fun.
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