don’t ask. Eventually we pieced it
together, though: He worked at the
airport. It was all crap he was
boosting from people’s luggage.
Slowly the rush would start to
taper off and we’d wind down. We’d
make our last collections, go over
our CD stock, balance our accounts.
If there was a party to DJ that night
we’d start getting ready for that.
Otherwise, we’d buy a few beers
and sit around and drink, talk about
the day, listen to the gunshots in
the distance. Gunshots went off
every night, and we’d always try to
guess what kind of gun it was.
“That’s a nine-millimeter.” Usually