At the Wawa store, I was in line behind a Palmyra police officer, eyeballing his thick belt, so new looking, so black, so nice and leathery with silvery snaps all around. Upon it hung his holster and stick, but what really caught my eye was a ring clipped to the back containing his handcuff key. The key was dangling and jingling so enticingly. I wanted it. I wanted it so badly. For some bizarre reason, I wanted that key as badly as I ever wanted anything in my life.

He turned around to see me there. I nonchalantly put my soda and milk on the counter. Though I wasn't staring at it anymore, I still wanted that key. 

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