wall-mounted-vending-machine-hustle

when you have complete freedom and no responsibilities, life can be a bit daunting, having no routine or institution dictating what you should be doing and when you should be doing it. you can even get the blues just sitting there in complete freedom wondering what the hell you're doing with your life. it helps to have some kind of addiction. to something that, to acquire, requires some, but not too much, effort. like alcohol or pussy for example. just to give yourself some kind of direction, you know?

to maintain a normal addiction, albeit mild, you gotta get money. and it doesn't grow on trees. i don't know why it doesn't - it should, but i'm neither an economist nor an ecologist, so i'm out of my element. most people get their money from jobs, but statistically... 95% of jobs are fucked up, so we prefer to hustle and steal. us rats, sitting around smoking bowls, think up fool-proof calamities.

we are creative, adaptive types, always looking for another crack, loop, hole, cycle, shadow, space, from which to refund ourselves for the damage that capitalism does to society and from which to salvage the wanton waste of a market driven economy and from which to redistribute the wealth of unfairly pocketed profit. we are proud of our actions - proud to rob from the faceless riches of legal persons. to live in leisure at the expense of no-one who deserves any less. proud to brag about our most mischievous endeavours.

the two latvian street urchins, Nico and Janis, were particularly sly. while selling old u-bahn tickets at the airport, and in general raiding the airport of discarded luggage ballast, they had spotted a toothbrush dispenser in the public toilets, loosening at the rivets. they could almost get enough leverage with mere fingers to pry it off the wall, but not wanting to risk a botch job on this potential jack pot, they came back the next day with some ramshackle gear. with the help of a scruffy screwdriver they removed a few more screws and started tugging at the piggy bank. to imagine the situation you can think of a latvian troll that looks like a pretty 14 year old girl, suspended above the floor, both legs pushing against the wall gripping the box with scrawney arms, body perpendicular to the tiles on the wall, muttering "come you fuckrr, come!" while the other keeps a shifty watch on the door for squares and snitches. finally ripping it from the wall, they stuffed the tin chest into a bag of sleep. then, with the pasty pig stuffed awkward under gnomish arms, they walked it through the automatic doors, laughing, past security, who wished them a nice day like a tease. on the street they cracked at it till the treasure was split. €60! what a haul. Nico was in such a tiz, clutching at his splitting sides, laughing and spluttering so hard he literally pissed his pants, and, having no other pair to change into, had to walk around in wet trousers for the rest of the day. he didn't care. he had a €30 share, and spent the the rest of the day, high as a cloud.