There were a few items in the refrigerator. Two cans of beer, an opened package of bologna, slices of bread were on the top shelf. Some oranges and apples were down below.

The television set was on. Dr. Phil lecturing a family of four. Talking about drugs and depression. Says the boy is bipolar. Who knows?

Down the hall, bedrooms were cleaned out. No beds, or, dressers. No chairs. Just a baby’s crib in one of em. The mattress was soiled.

They wanted something to take. Something for the effort. Wasn’t much of an effort. Place was unlocked. Just a turn of the knob.

And they ate bologna sandwiches and drank the beers. Took some oranges for the road. Spray painted graffiti on the walls in blue; DEATH TO UPPER CLASS. Made stick figure drawings of people bent over. People behind them. Drew crowns and wrote, KINGS OF THE UNDERCLASS.

They left as silent as they went in. Nobody knew they were there.

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