(no subject)
"All right. Are we ready?"
It's just before dawn. They're stopped in a Dunkin Donuts parking lot for one last run-through. They're ready--they know they're ready. They've done it before, and by all the indicators today will be, relatively, a cakewalk. But they're nervous.
They're always nervous.
By an unspoken agreement, they all defer to the one person here who seems to know something about tactics. "Okay. We'll use this entrance." A finger in thin leather gloves stabs down on a map, spread out on the hood of a yellow convertible coupe. "These are going to be the busiest, so we want to avoid them as long as we can, but sooner or later we have to hit the heart." Fingers tap another sector of the map.
"And no matter what we do, that's going to be hell."
They're all here because they want to be. Because this is what they do, who they are. In this time, and this place, there's nowhere else they could be.
"Do we have the list?" someone asks. One of them isn't here; couldn't be here today.
"I've got it," says the leader. "C'mon. Let's get going. We've got three more stops today. Let's be quick, and let's be thorough." They always are. Even surgical. But they're all nervous. This is their last chance.
Some of them are friends; not all of them, by any means. Some of them are enemies. But today--for one day only--they're a team.
At least the weather is good for it.
The convertible pulls out of the parking lot, and the other car--a blue Mercedes--follows the taillights. Towards the first target.
Towards the Westchester Mall.
Behind the wheel of her yellow coupe, the driver cranks the tunes, 5 am or not. Fuck the neighbors.
You're gonna be a shining star
in fancy clothes
and fancy cars.
And then you'll see
you're gonna go far,
Cause everyone know
just who you are.
It's Black Friday.
It's just before dawn. They're stopped in a Dunkin Donuts parking lot for one last run-through. They're ready--they know they're ready. They've done it before, and by all the indicators today will be, relatively, a cakewalk. But they're nervous.
They're always nervous.
By an unspoken agreement, they all defer to the one person here who seems to know something about tactics. "Okay. We'll use this entrance." A finger in thin leather gloves stabs down on a map, spread out on the hood of a yellow convertible coupe. "These are going to be the busiest, so we want to avoid them as long as we can, but sooner or later we have to hit the heart." Fingers tap another sector of the map.
"And no matter what we do, that's going to be hell."
They're all here because they want to be. Because this is what they do, who they are. In this time, and this place, there's nowhere else they could be.
"Do we have the list?" someone asks. One of them isn't here; couldn't be here today.
"I've got it," says the leader. "C'mon. Let's get going. We've got three more stops today. Let's be quick, and let's be thorough." They always are. Even surgical. But they're all nervous. This is their last chance.
Some of them are friends; not all of them, by any means. Some of them are enemies. But today--for one day only--they're a team.
At least the weather is good for it.
The convertible pulls out of the parking lot, and the other car--a blue Mercedes--follows the taillights. Towards the first target.
Towards the Westchester Mall.
Behind the wheel of her yellow coupe, the driver cranks the tunes, 5 am or not. Fuck the neighbors.
You're gonna be a shining star
in fancy clothes
and fancy cars.
And then you'll see
you're gonna go far,
Cause everyone know
just who you are.
It's Black Friday.