A Perfect Crime

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I went to buy glasses today. I reached for a pair of sunglasses first, but the more you try to disguise yourself, the more you stick out, so I chose a pair of normal ones instead. Much better for diverting people’s attention. They’d think I was short-sighted, and short-sighted people seem trustworthy.

I also bought some duct tape, which I wrapped around my hand. It was sticky stuff. It took ages for me to tear it off and get my hand clean again.

The day’s plans didn’t originally include buying clothes, but somehow I found myself entering a shop, having taken pity on the owner. She was in her thirties, short, with a face grey like dried orange peel. She’d just been humiliated by a handsome customer. Everyone likes beautiful things, why shouldn’t she want her own boutique? Well, that’s what I thought, anyway. But I regretted it as soon as she looked up. Her eyes were submissive, unbearably so, and they trailed after me wherever I went. Just as I was about to leave she addressed me in a funny voice: ‘Uncle, I do a good price. Elsewhere it might cost over a thousand. I sell it for a few hundred. Exactly the same stuff. I’ve got everything you could want.’ She pulled out a T-shirt and continued. ‘Try this on. If you don’t, how’ll you know what it looks like? Try it first, we can talk money afterwards.’

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