Much to purples dismay I was 11 the first time I robbed a bank

Nah, kidding, it’s not a trap song.

Listen — I met a girl tonight and she was lovely yet obviously traumatized.

Notice I used ‘yet’ instead of ‘but.’

She’s lovely — yet as I was being introduced to here an Alpha Male was feeling offended about losing his only opportunity at any meat in the room. He goes on and on about nonsense and she turns to me, ‘and you? what do you do for a living?’

‘It depends on the day.’

He began on a tirade about ‘which bank did I rob Monday? Oh it was Royal Bank of Canada. Tuesday? Oh it was TD.’

Not far from the truth, ol’ buck. But my first bank heist was at the ripe old age of 11, before (as yet) you had the capacity to form an opinion, yet alone coherent thought.

All the gold, all the guns? Couldn’t get you off — Metric.

Well, my good dear friend {redacted_j} and I had a wonderful thought we put together one dark night out in the cabin well behind my house — you see, we’d grown bored of games on the Super Nintendo and also somehow bored of a relentless series of matches of chess vis a vis the other misfit.

We began demising ways to feed our habits — although, it would turn out, not nearly as bad as the habits we may have grown accustomed to later in life.

You see — the money, the power, the gold — we’ve come to devour the vault — as acquired…