The best writing in the world, period.  There is proof.
Jan. 21, 2003
volume i, issue ix
oh, alice
I decided that I would steal from my next-door neighbor.  We both lived above a cigarette shop that sold cigarettes, which I didn't have to buy because I would steal them. You see, I didn't have any money, which meant that I didn't have anything to eat. So I listened for my next-door neighbor to leave and then I broke into his apartment. The bitch-ass never paid his rent on time but he always had food. I never had food, except for what food I had stolen, but I always paid the rent on time. It was a matter of purgatories I suppose. I munched on some of his cookies and looked out through his clean window. It offered a nice view to the Bluebird Café across the street.  I'd never stolen anything from that café, although I can't be sure.  But stealing was my philosophy of life.  I'd even stolen my philosophy.  I'd been drinking at a bar one day and overheard these two guys talking about their philosophy of life and one of them said that his philosophy of life was stealing.  So I stole it.  And if you have a philosophy of life, you should sublimate it until it becomes whatever sublimate means.  So, yeah, I probably have stolen something from that café.

It looked like a nice day for sitting and I saw a woman sitting at the table that I usually sat sitting at where I'd pretend to write when actually I didn't have anything else to do and just wanted to sit sitting down.  She was writing a letter and nobody writes letters anymore. It's not the first time I've said that.  But that's not what kept my attention on her.  I noticed with my keen eyes that she took off her ring and her necklace and put it into the envelope along with the letter.  I decided that I was going to steal her necklace and ring from her.  She could keep the letter and the envelope.  I hurried back to my apartment and put away the meat and coffee that I stole from my next-door neighbor.  I ran down the stairs, out into the street and saw the woman getting up to leave.  On my way through the cigarette shop, I stole a pack of my favorite full-flavored cigarettes.

Okay, I'll tell you that it was a beautiful day if that's what you want to know and that the city buzzed with life. Blue. Clouds. Sun. Smiles. All that shit that's unstealable.  You know what I mean.

Anyway, I followed her to an apartment building and watched her go into an apartment. It was a fancy building. She was in the apartment for a few minutes before she left. I didn't know if she still had the letter with her, but I decided that I would leave her alone and steal from the apartment instead.

I waited for her to walk out of sight. I even waited a few minutes more to make sure she didn't turn around because she forgot something. That's what professional stealers do. When I felt that she wouldn't return I went back into the building and broke into the apartment.

It was everything my apartment wasn't. I ran my fingers along the marble. I sat on the couch. I peed in the toilet.  I could tell this was a bachelor's pad because this is what my apartment would like if I were a bachelor. Well, technically I was a bachelor, but I couldn't really afford to be a bachelor. You know, wining and dining bitches and what not. I filled my pockets and decided that was enough stealing for today. But then an envelope caught my eye. I picked it up on my way out real stylish like. Like the envelope didn't even notice that I lifted it. Or like I was on camera or something being watched by hot housewives who liked tough guys who steal things instead of their boring husbands who go to bars talking about their philosophy of life instead of taking care of business sexing up their wives at the homestead.  Yeah.

It was still a beautiful day and the city still buzzed. Buzz buzz buzz.

I took my new stuff to the park and sat on a bench. I opened the envelope and found the necklace and ring. It was like I won the lottery but even gooder. Much much more gooder.  I think I basked in the afterglow of my stealing.  I think that's what it was because I smoked a cigarette and was intensely interested in the ass of every woman who walked by me.

Now, I'm not normally a curious guy, except for the aforementioned asses, I just like to steal things, but I couldn't resist opening the letter. Dear blah blah blah, mhm, yes yes, I love you blah blah blah but i'm tired of you cheating on me blah blah blah. It went on just like that for the first page and I should have probably stopped there but I didn't because I wanted to see if there were any dirty parts. I turned the paper over to the other side. "I'm going to kill myself. I just wanted to say goodbye." And then her name, which I'm not going to tell you.  It might have been Alice.  But there were no dirty parts.  No I watched you two secretly from the closet going at it  doggy style.  No does she give better head than me.  Nope.  None of that.

I was puzzled though. What should I do? After all, the woman was going to kill herself.  How would I stop her?  Should I stop her?  Should I get help?  That's the life of a stealer, though. One unanswered question after the next waiting to be un-unanswered.  I hurried back to the apartment and broke in again. I looked around for some clue that might help me find her. I found another envelope with an address on it and her name. I also turned on the TV just to see the picture quality and if the guy had any of those Playboy channels and any of those other channels that actually show penetration.  I knew that was called pornography.  But immediately after that, I took off down the street with envelope in hand asking whomever I ran into for directions as I made my way in that direction.  I suppose.

I finally found the building I searched for, but I stopped at the entrance because it occurred to me: what should I tell her? Not about me stealing from her, that would be kind of petty wouldn't it? I wasn't really worried about that. I'm a petty stealer, but I'm not petty. No, I mean what should I tell her to stop her from killing herself?

"Hey, you're making a mistake. You're beautiful and I would like to see you naked. "

"You know that son of a bitch isn't worth it. I'll make you cum three times."

I thought some other stuff too, but I kept losing my thought.  They weren't really mine anyway.  At least they didn't feel like mine.  I knew that other people had thought of things like that, so I felt that I was basically stealing them too and for some reason I felt that I was at a crossroads as it pertained to my philosophy of life.   I couldn't understand why stealing those thoughts would bother me when my philosophy of life was stealing?  It was strange.  Not strange like supernatural strange, but strange like hmm strange.  Strange like what's going on I can't understand it strange.

And then the thought of thoughts occurred to me.  Probably the only thing I felt I'd never stolen in my life.  I thought why would I have to tell her anything?  That's just part of the thought, not the whole thought.  Anyway, in a day or two everyone would think she's dead.  I could just kidnap her, you know, steal her, and take her back to my apartment where I'd tie her up and have my way with her.  In the beginning, she'd probably try gnawing through the ropes to escape.  Then I'd eventually show her that I trusted her.  You know, in some small way.  Maybe untie one of her hands or something.  She'd have the urge to drag herself to the phone to dial for help, but she wouldn't do it because I would have shown her that I trusted her in some small way.  Just like I just said.  Then one day, I'd come home and find the ropes on the floor and I'd think that she'd escaped, which would make me sad, only to see her coming out of the bathroom in her underwear with a smile on her face.  That would surprise me and make me happy again.  Yeah, she'd eventually like me and we'd laugh ha ha ha, oh how we'd laugh about the time that I saved her life and eventually given her a reason to live after I'd pleasured her for a few weeks.  Good god, would I pleasure her.  That's what I was thinking--all the ways that I would pleasure her--I hope she wouldn't bite--when I suddenly heard this meaty thud.  I turned to look and there she was in a pool of blood not more than ten feet from me.  I didn't even hear her falling.  And that kind of intrigued me.  You know, the fact that I didn't hear her falling.  No whooshing sound or anything like that.  Or that whistling sound that people make when they're pretending that something is falling.  I guess she didn't even scream.  She fell quietly. 

I kind of pretended that I didn't notice her in a crumple there and started back to that fancy apartment to watch some TV.  I stayed there for a week, maybe more, because nobody came home.  I thought for sure that one day I'd wake up and have some guy looking at me wondering what the hell was going on?  Then I'd show him the suicide letter and he'd sit down and put his face in his hands and offer me more beer as a gesture of his appreciation for being there for him.  But no, he never came home.  Eventually, his fridge ran out of things to drink.  Things like beverages.  So I decided to leave.  I didn't consider the beverages thing stealing.  Beverages were usually complimentary.

sean. ©2003
i think her name was alice