I had been planning my first crime for months, even posting updates for my blog followers online. It was going to make people sweat buckets when they saw what I was about to do, my masterpiece for all to see.
It was an early Autumn morning in which I dropped the line from my upper window. The end of the line wasn’t to be sitting on the floor for long however, and I carried it over to the house across the street, kicking open the door and pulling a gun out on the tired occupants.
They screamed as I kicked them up the stairs, and they cried when I locked them in a cupboard. I had the string waiting outside, and I pulled it to the upper window facing my own, with a line I’d bought from a tackle shop just one week ago.
The line was in place and I started to strip out of my dirty clothes, I hung them on the line across the street to dry, and while I admired my all mighty crime, the local police tackled me to the floor, and dragged me away from my washing line.
They asked why I did it and I told them I just wanted to feel the rush of crime, and that I expected them to hang me from my illegal washing line.
But they wouldn’t talk about my crime. Instead they told me I was going down for breaking and entering, possessing a gun, and public indecency. They wouldn’t talk about the washing line, a law that was still in the books (I checked). They wouldn’t acknowledge my masterpiece.
I screamed that they didn’t even know their own law, and I wept as no one got to see my illegal washing line.