Bank Robbers


The flashing red lights of the cruiser flickered with stifled intensity. They were mitigated by the earliest morning light twenty-nine year old Alan Oakley (aka “Oak”) had the great misfortune of experiencing in his entire life. He was typically a late riser, but today was very special. Sunshine, cop cars, and a wickedly fine woman driving that two-toned black and white police cruiser had him irrepressibly excited about his wonderful plan. Oak had a gun in the back, but he couldn’t exactly put a bullet in this girl here, not the one tapping almost erotically on his driver-side window. Not her . . . it was love at first sight, man.

“Morning ¾” Oak’s bald, freckly head appeared. Once the window descended, he scratched his shiny noggin with a couple freckly fingers. “¾ Is there any really good reason you should be pulling me over just now?”

“Would you like to step out the car?” the officer said.

Ok. Maybe this was a dream. No, he was stoned. It only felt like a dream.

“What if I told you my mother just died?”

“Look. I’d say stop acting like such a whining coward! Exit the car, sir! Do it now . . . or I’ll shove this steal truncheon up your fanny. Get me, Jackass?”





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)