Let us usher August out the door by writing about: the substitute.
Another fairly quiet day around these parts. I think I may have given up on weeding the garden for this year without fully realizing it. If this week slips by without any more weeds being pulled I might have to make it official.
Spent part of my morning catching up on comments (woo hoo, only three weeks behind now!) and then spent the afternoon with Max. I should maybe take a picture of him sometime and share it with you guys, because I have this nagging feeling that it has been a long time since I've done that.
The plan, such as it was, did not inspire faith. It was not properly thought out. Rushed and unprofessional were two of the kindest words I could have used to describe it. Idiotic and doomed to fail were some of the less kind.
You might be wondering why I agreed to it then. Can't say I blame you. I've often had the same line of thinking since then. Sure, I was in a desperate spot. One that seemed utterly hopeless, with no reasonable escape. I guess an incredibly unreasonable route seemed like my only chance.
There was also, of course, the potential reward. No man I've ever met would turn his back on the chance for that kind of money, no matter how ridiculous the odds of success may be. That's how casinos do such killer business, right?
Well. Whatever the reason, I said I'd do it. Or at least try, anyway. So I walked into that museum under the watchful eye of at least a dozen guards and twice as many cameras. Concealed in my jacket was a rather inexact replica of the statue I was meant to steal.
"Just switch it out for the real thing," they'd told me. "You just need a distraction, that's all."
Yeah, that was all. It's not like I had unlimited time to come up with something good - the exhibit was only in town for the weekend. Like I said, rushed and poorly thought out. But like I also said, I was in a bad place.
That's why the other thing I'd hidden in my jacket that afternoon was the foulest smelling stink bomb I could get my hands on.