The bandit slinks out his front door and crosses the stone walkway leading to his neighbors. Eight steps. He could take them in his sleep. He wonders if sometimes he does.

Once on the other side he darts around the bend so as not to be detected.

He waits. Eleven heartbeats. Then he inches his gaze around the corner toward the parking lot. A flash of sunlight glaring off a red sedan momentarily blinds him. He panics. He blinks. He wipes the sweat from his forehead.

It’s nothing. It’s just nerves.

He pulls out the key. Still shiny. Still relatively new. Only been used once. (at least thats what he tells himself) He inserts it into the lock and he turns it.

The last time the bandit visited this particular location, he was head over heels in love. He was positively swooning with it. It made him sick.

The thought of it now still makes him sick.

He enters the apartment as if it was his own and he closes the door behind him.

The last time he was here things were much neater. There was order. Not so much now. Dirty dishes overflowing the sink. Two empty pizza boxes on the table. Papers on the floor. Pillows and blankets falling off the couch.

Anti-symmetry. Without her, everyone evolved backwards into chaos. Everything operated in reverse inertia.  

The bandit sighs.

‘Used to be in love.’  

He moves toward the bedroom. A noise freezes him. Someone else there? In the bedroom.

‘Couldn’t be,’ he assures himself. Red car gone.

Another tentative step. And out of the shadows of the bedroom darts Zsa Zsa the cat.

Relief floods the bandit and he drops down on all fours to pet the friendly feline. She responds with a cuddly purr.

Sadly, it’s the most affection the bandit has received in over three weeks.

Back on mission.

He moves into the bedroom, still not convinced what his best course of action is. He knows he needs something. But what?

He moves toward the dresser when the sight of the bed halts him in his sneaky tracks.

Her side of the bed. Cold now. Vacant for weeks. He wonders if it still smells like her. He remembers taking a nap there. Worshiping the scent of her body as he inhaled it off the blanket and pillow. He recalls never wanting to wake up.

To the third drawer of the dresser. T-shirts. He stares in at them, all nicely folded. All fresh and clean.

‘This won’t do.’

He closes it and moves toward the closet. Yes, that’s it. Dirty laundry.

The bandit peels away the top layers of wrinkled men’s clothing until he spots some feminine coloring. He recognizes it. A t-shirt with a peace sign on it. The last thing he saw her wear.  

The bandit picks it up as if he’s just unearthed the most ancient of artifacts. He holds it to his nose. And he inhales ecstasy.

Another successful mission.  

He promises that this will be his final run. One last big score. After this, he will retire.

Hours later, back in his own messy apartment, naked and spent on the living room couch, peace t-shirt draped across his face…he wonders what the hell he will do when the scent eventually wears off of this one.