A Rip Off of Something You Don't Know

I fell for it. I knew I would but wasn't too bothered by it beforehand.

The two of them were in the back, behind the line of sycamores close to the thorn patch. The elder had his shoes unlaced and was waving about his elbows frantically. The young one preened his jacket while his earbuds blasted.

"When will you want to?" one of them said.

"About the time you quit, 'spose," said the other, in a much too hushed voice, as if to disregard his own countenance.

I began to mock them, in my mind. Refusing to move, even my keel, I took short breaths and kept my chin upon the damp flooring. Somehow...damn it I knew it!...somehow they each had an eye on me. But for that time being I was relaxed, and ever so discontent in the solace.

"Well, I guess," one of them stammered,"I guess we could flip at any moment."

"True. I know," said the other. "But what would be the value of that?"

And while my relaxation wandered, off into a place I no longer cared for it's survival, my pickpockets disarmed themselves, leaving me craving.

I drew back. I counted to three as quickly as I could.

Then the upstairs lights went off, and I fell. I feel deep deep deep down into the abyss, with them above squelching and pawing my remains without apathy.

Why must it always come to this, Grandma?