Article Tools
- Text Size
- Add a comment (
- Print this article
- Email this article
It was a January midnight, and I was driving down Woodward Avenue, looking for a place to continue my evening of fun. Over there! I pulled up in front of a noisy bar.
Leaving my new Pontiac running at the curb, I walked inside and fired a shot into the ceiling. In the sudden hush, a hundred startled faces turned my way. I must have looked pretty funny, swallowed up in my father’s felt hat and oversized trench coat, with a red cowboy bandana over my nose and mouth. But my pointed gun was no laughing matter.
“This is a stickup!” I announced. “Line up and put your valuables on the bar.”
Earlier that night, I had robbed a gas station. That success—to say nothing of the bottle of scotch I had finished off between the robberies—made me feel invincible. But as I watched the loot pile up, I didn’t notice that the bartender had snuck up beside me. He hit me over the head with a full bottle of beer, and I…
The full article is available to subscribers only
Access all articles, daily meditations and readings, as well as special resources, by becoming a subscriber. View subscription options.
Special Offer: 2 week free web-only trial subscription. Sign up now.
Existing Print & Web-Only Subscribers: Login for full access.