I’m a thief.  I don’t mean like some professional who dresses in black and sneaks in hotel windows, although that would be so cool.  What I mean is that I steal things.  Lots of things.  It’s not kleptomania, either.  That bothered me at first.  Naw, I steal things because I need money.  It’s easier than working.  And I’m good at it.  I don’t do armed stuff.  That’s stupid.  I mean, wow, how much are you going to make knocking off a Quik Go?  I can be in and out of your house within 10 minutes, and I can have enough of your stuff to net me a grand.  The secret is, you have to do your homework.  You have to know who has the good stuff and who would be a waste of time.  Never want to get robbed?  Don’t get rich.  And then you have to know when they’re going to be gone.  It’s not that hard.  You can even arrange that stuff.  When people get calls from the emergency room, they don’t even lock the door behind ‘em.  Alarms are just a nuisance.  Unless they have a really good alarm.  Or a dog.  Then they win.  I don’t need a challenge.  And never, I mean never, keep anything you steal.  Either you fence it, or you pitch.  And don’t go giving it to your friends, either.  So, yeah, I work like three nights a week, for maybe four hours a night, and I bring down, on an average, five grand.  I could make more.  A lot more.  But that’s another one of my secrets.  Don’t get greedy.  I mean, how much money do you need anyway?  You don’t want to be flashing cash all around.  People will start to wonder where you got it.  So then you’ll have to get a job to cover, and that’s the whole reason why I’m a thief – so I don’t have to have a regular job.  Naw, I get by on about two grand a month, give or take.  Everybody thinks I get disability or something.  There’s a lot of vague rumors, most of them that I started.  And, yeah, the rest of the money I funnel off shore.  I’ve got a series of dummy accounts set up in about five different countries and throughout the United States.  If somebody ever got wise to begin with and then was actually able to find me… Well, I’m going to be impressed.  That would be a cool guy to get to know.   See, I figure, what?  Four more years and I can retire.  And that will be nice.  It’s not that I’m nervous that I’ll get caught.  If I were, I’d quit right now.  You can’t be nervous.  Hell, I’m never nervous because I know I can’t be caught.  See, the thing is:  I’m really good.  And one of the things, undoubtedly the number one thing that makes me so damn good is that nobody can know.  Nobody.  I work alone.  I cover my own alibi… which I have never needed.  But I still have one.  My mama doesn’t know.  My girlfriend doesn’t have a clue.  Nobody can get pinched for some petty crap and roll on me to get off.  Because that little punk doesn’t even know me.  And I’m so slick, you rarely see it in the papers.  You steal the diamond necklace some schmuck has bought for his mistress, what’s he going to do?  I even have plans how I can eventually bring out all my money when I retire.  But nobody can know.  Nobody.  I’m the best thief in this entire town, maybe even the freakin’ state, and nobody knows.  I am the absolute best at what I do, and everybody thinks I’m a slacker.  So I’m stealing this microphone.  And I’m going to keep it.  I could steal your whole machine, but then, you’d never get to hear this tape, and I don’t want that.