As usual, he went out to steal, gathered $7, sighed, went and bought cigarettes, entered the building, climbed the stairs. He arrived in front of the apartment, froze in his place, opened his eyes wide, his heartbeat rose sharply, a sense of danger. He heard the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs, he lives on the top floor, the two floors below him have no residents; a strategy he adopted to hear those who owe him, so if someone climbs near his floor, he is most likely looking for him.
He hid in the hallway closet, heard a girl's voice saying: "Is he really in 43? He is fast." Someone replies: "Impossible that he lives here, maybe he entered the adjacent building." He waited until a long time passed, came out of the closet, opened the door panting: "Damn! I knew they were coming for me, they know a lot, even my age!". He brings a box and starts gathering his things, then stops: "What do I have to gather?". He leaned against the wall, after he calmed down he decided to leave. He spent the night wiping his fingerprints; the smell of alcohol and rags everywhere. The next morning he gathered alcohol bottles and rags, closed the door and left the apartment.