Monday, March 09, 2009

Photo #8

For my writing class we're given daily prompts, and sometimes the prompt is a photo.
We write for 10 minutes–12 minutes max–and hit the send button. Our writing partner changes every week. Photo by Jane Underwood.

Wonder why Dr. Smith's casket was a closed one? I'll give you a clue. See that photo of me carrying the black plastic bag? Guess what's in the bag?

Ha! And I strolled right by during the service.

Every year I do two hits at $80,000 apiece. The first fifteen or twenty years were hard. But the money was good. Even for San Francisco. Even living by myself.

Fear took its toll during the early years. I would stock up on food to last a long time. Once I finished an assignment I would lay low in my studio sweating for a month or two. Gradually I'd re-emerge and get used to life outside the building for awhile ... but then it would be time for the next project, and I'd construct my plan and begin carrying bags of food up to my freezers.

The freezers come in handy for more than food, as you might imagine.

After 20 successful years I actually began getting bored. I started playing games. This is when they say you are asking to be caught. But the hits had stopped giving me that charge.

I set up a web cam in the bay window across from Duggan's, where most of my assignments end up. I began recording movies of myself carrying a portion of the injured party as his funeral was in progress. I have the precise times and dates on each frame to prove it.

I have Duggan's bugged and I wear my headset as I hike the block. When the organ grinds out the final number I stroll right by the front door with my part. In the case of Dr. Smith, his head.