Like almost every teenager, I shoplifted. And I was really good at it too. Utterly fearless. This was back in the early- 90s when they didn’t have all the store security they do now. In the small provincial city where I grew up, the moral decency of people was all the policing you needed to keep your stock safe from sticky fingers.
“How much did it cost?” we used to ask each other at school as we pawed over each other’s spoils.
“Five finger discount,” we would reply, laughing at the ease with which we slipped things into our pockets. Into our bags. The words harsher, rougher than we were. Girls from the nice part of town on the fringes of the vast park at its centre. Girls with adequate pocket money. Girls who never really wanted for anything. Girls with no reason to
