Creeping through the silent streets
Hood pulled far over his face
Relishing in tonight’s take
He has fresh, warm blood on his hands
He isn’t shaking, completely composed
He feels the weight of jewelry in his fingers
Looks up as another approaches
They exchange pleasantries and goods
From the roof another watches the trade
He slowly makes his way down to the ground
Startled, the hoods pull weapons
Too late, they’re full of holes
The man ignores the cargo
Justice is his reward


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