[ Wiring Prompt ] A person who commits a crime finds evidence of a much bigger crime .

On an airless evening, I sell a quarter ounce of marijuana to a ragged-haired teenage boy who sits on a park bench. He slides two crumpled twenties into my hand and saunters away. 
 He has walked a few meters when a man in a ski mask emerges from the darkness, and tackles him to the ground. They wriggle like dying fish and eventually they are still, with the masked man on top. He sits, pinning the wide-eyed boy in place. He speaks in a low voice. In a few moments, he is grasping a wallet, and the small baggy I just sold the boy. He takes off towards the bushes again, leaving my customer lying on the ground. 
 I feel like an imposter to this life of crime. I sell soft drugs to kids. This is not part of the job description, and the masked man knows it. I am too skinny and novice to fight him, and the three ounces of weed I have yet to deliver suggest calling the police is a bad idea. 
 I approach my client again. He says he ’ s fine. Fine, but robbed off all his money, *and* his weed. He looks up suggestively at this. 
 “ Sorry, ” I say, “ but I ’ m already selling everything I have on me tonight. ” 
 “ Aw, come on, please? ” The boy puts his head down into his hands. 
 I am about to apologize again, when two hands blind me from behind. I yell for the boy to help. He doesn ’ t answer. I feel hands dig into my pockets. 
 I am kicked in the back, and my face hits the ground. When I sit up, rubbing in blood and dirt, the boy and the masked man are running, side by side. My pay and my product are gone. Worst of all, I can ’ t separate immorality from crime anymore. I won ’ t call the cops and ask for my illegal substance to kindly be returned. I ’ ll bandage my wounds, find a new park bench, and never put morality and lawlessness together again. 

