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Posted on August 08, 2020 by chesire

You know what the best part of being rich was? The unfettered access to opportunities: opportunities for better clothes, better cars, better watches, better jewellery, better food, just better everything. It was amazing that the biggest worry was stock markets and that Mrs. Smith next door just got the newest model so better hurry up and buy something even newer and better than what she's got, that stuck up bitch. It was amazing to have the world at your fingertips and be unable to see past the asshole your head was shoved up.

The worst part about being rich?

Hm, probably that Harper was on the opposite end of the spectrum. Hell, bitch barely had enough to buy food so it looked like she was going to be living off shitty 25ยข ramen until she found a job to hold for like a week or two before inevitably forgetting to show up for a shift because she was hungover as a dog. Either way, time to find some form of supplemental income hence her reason for stalking the streets like a stray dog, lingering in front of store fronts that just smelled so goddamn good. It also was a good excuse to use the reflections to check the streets around her for easy targets. Her goal wasn't people though, oh no. They were too risky and a pain, honestly. No, she preferred their belongings and here on this bougie street there were plenty. All the people with their extravagance trying to show off... Oh, let's hit that one!

Practically skipping away from the window of the bakery, Harper slowed her pace once to let her eyes track a group of women going in the opposite direction, laughing and talking, biting her lip with a grin as she did so. Then her attention swung forward again, as she reached a less busy area. She glanced around briefly, drawing her fingertips along the body of a fancy car (don't ask the make, she's not a car person. It's a car. It has doors and wheels. What more do you want from her?). She didn't attempt to stop the smirk as she felt the light pressure in her skull, that feeling told her she had once again coaxed a lock free. The trunk popped as she strode over like it was the most perfectly natural thing for her to do, nothing suspicious here. Rummaging briefly, finding a disappointing nothing - seriously, who the hell doesn't leave anything in their trunk? No junk, forgotten clothes, nothing? - she slapped it closed then strode off as a group walked past her. She didn't go far though, leaning against another car to drum on the passenger door, the perfect picture of waiting for someone.

Once alone - or at least alone enough - she popped the door handle and ducked into the car, quickly digging through the compartments to search for anything of worth - loose change, emergency funds for gas, electronics to pawn. Seemed this one was more of a success as she found a stash of cash not well hidden in the glove compartment, her grin stretching ear to ear. She didn't bother counting it, shoving it into her pocket and ducking out of the car to meander down the street. She'd count her find when she got a bit of distance. Maybe after she got something to eat. Maybe she'd get tacos. Tacos sounded good. Oh oh - a chimichanga! She'd get a chimichanga! A big greasy chimichanga smothered with cheese! Fuck yeah!

Her focus now more on dreaming about food than being alert, Harper didn't bother to check her surroundings too much as she hit another car. She'd been doing this for most of the afternoon and had yet to be caught, suspected, yelled at, or really even noticed. Popping the door handle, Harper slid into yet another passenger seat to flip through the console of the car hunting for any additional goodies, door propped open with her foot for an easy exit. Never let it close, keep as much an exit available as possible. Maybe if she found some more cash, she could really splurge and get a few beers with her chimichanga. Or maybe she would stick with tacos. Oh wait- what if she got a burger instead?


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