Bummerland by Ajr^^^ (love this songggg)🤪
Easton's POV
You know what they say, Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Waking up early, combined with a protein-filled hearty breakfast of a cold glass of whiskey, ensures that whatever problems you might face at work, you can handle. My job is important to me. My job is not just a job; it's a place where I want to do my best every day. So I put my best foot forward! If I'm feeling extra thorough, I'll scarf down an overripe banana or a soft tangerine.
I'm Easton Mcclaire. The last name is Scottish, I think. Although, to be honest, I only assumed I'm Scottish. My relationship with whisky is way too close for me not to be Scottish. Anyways, I didn't lie when I said my job is important to me—not that you'd notice when I was lying—It is. And I thrive at it. It's the only thing I'm good at. Nothing else comes more naturally to me than my job.
I first started working when I was just the ripe age of 12. I was impressionable and young at that age; you soak up knowledge like a dry sponge. I started with just random pick-pocketing. I was abnormally short for my age, and my obese body only made me look more innocent. It didn't take much effort on my part. I concluded that either I was a genius at stealing or everyone around me was just stupid. It was a bit of both. I wish I could say I started stealing because of my screwed-up parents or some sob story, but sadly, I don't have a valid villain story to feed you. I simply thrive off the adrenaline rush.
I grew on the east side of the Bronx, closer to Melrose. My mom and dad weren't around, and my grandmother hardly had enough social security to buy food for herself, so I stepped up and did what I could. By "stepped up," I mean I stole watches, random bills, key chains, and coins; I used all the money to buy honey buns and pecan rolls at the corner store. I stayed out all day and all night sticking my greedy sticky fingers in big fleece trench coats worn by stockbrokers on their way to work. I learned the hard way that businessmen and women don't carry around nearly enough cash. Times were evolving; cash wasn't needed as much anymore. Big businessmen and women had metal credit cards and elaborate wallets and apps. So I decided to expand my knowledge.
By the time I was 15, I had learned how to code. Coding was the boring part and the easiest part. I read coding books instead of doing my English essays, and I watched videos on how to code programs instead of playing Call of Duty like the rest of my classmates. Hacking was the more exciting part. But, of course, coding and hacking require a computer, and a good one at that, so I did have to submit myself to societal norms and find myself a job. It was the only job I'd ever have. Working for a fat-rich white guy in a boujee coffee shop was more repulsive than the extra shot espresso cups people buy. They taste like shit. I worked 40 hours a week on top of school and procrastinating homework; I finally had enough to buy my first desktop. Naturally, my grandma asked me why I needed something so gaudy just for schoolwork. Luckily, she's as old as a ww2 tank, so I chalked it up to technology evolving.
I started out hacking simple websites such as my school's. I didn't do anything too explicit, but I did post a picture of Kevin Barnett's ass on the homepage after finding out his favorite pastime was sharing unsolicited nudes of the girl's softball team. Then I moved on to more broad places, like random celebrity Instagram pages, Twitter accounts....my English teacher's Facebook page. Now you might be thinking, Have I ever been caught? And the answer is yes. I have. Many times. However, that's how I learned the second most important thing about being a con artist—the lying aspect, or rather the manipulation. Lying came a little easier since I am my father's son, but dreaming up excuses and manipulating feelings; was more difficult. So I did what any respectable, hard-working con artist would do; I watched telenovelas. The art of faking emotions and configuring lies was all in telenovelas. Sometimes I threw in a couple of foreign films and emotions for dummies.
I was set and prepared for my first mission on Wall Street. After successfully hacking and acquiring bank account numbers, debit cards, and PINs from random men running to catch their taxi to work, I dropped out of high school. Soon after, I moved out of the Bronx to be closer to the city. Grandma stayed back in Melrose, completely oblivious to the fact that her only grandson had basically thrown his future away to lie and steal for a living. I wasn't unaware that I was an asshole. However, I only stole from other wealthy assholes. The type of guys who only tip 50 cents when they eat out at a restaurant, the type of guys to eye a young girl while she is walking by, the type of guy to make sexist comments and sexualize coworkers because he feels like he can, the type of guy that cheats on his wife and is never there to talk to kids when they need him. Those are the type of guys I pine after.
Usually...
I always stick to a strict schedule when it comes to working. I leave my penthouse around 8:30 to be at the subway by 9:00 and at wall street by 9:30. From then on, it's kind of a game of chance. I'm not some creepy stalker that hunts down a specific asshole and steals all his money. Instead, I happen upon most of my clients. I'm always in a slick designer suite as not to raise any suspicions, and my greasy shoulder-length hair is always gelled back, so I look like an extra in 007. My shoes are shiny, and my briefcase is full. Of course, the only thing in it is my portable laptop, just in case I need to hack something speedily, and my wallet for the bar after my long day of work is done.
Anyways back to the routine; I don't strike up a conversation with the men I deal with. They always come to me. Most of the time, they chalk it up to a dull common comment about the weather while they wait for their taxi. I wait for them to move enough for me to dig in their pockets, or they chat about business and ask me even more dull questions about what company I work for and how long I've been in the game. At first, I was quite intimidated by the stock market lingo, but now I've pretty much got it down pat. Words like Bagholder--which doesn't apparently mean a guy who has a massive amount of weed-- it means a person who holds on to shares or options in the hopes that they will recover. Other words include paper hands which means when a trader sells their stocks too early, and DD, which means Due Diligence. I took to the internet to learn most terminology, but avid conversation is where I learned the most.
Then after a decent amount of conversation, I've usually bought myself enough time to dig into their Burberry trench coats, and I have one of their many debit cards in my hands. Sometimes if I have enough time, I solely take the number using a sort of silly putty that marks the numbers when I press down on the card, but when I'm racing against the time, I simply take the entire thing. During those situations, it's easier to take someone's entire wallet.
Let me explain; Let's say one of those Wallstreet assholes get into their cab, and right when they are about to get out and pay, they feel their wallet is gone. Their first thought is "did I drop it?" or "did I leave it at the office?"; their first thought is never "Did someone sneak into my pocket and steal it?" because any normal attentive person would've felt someone taking a bulky leather wallet out of their pocket. On the contrary, if I were to take a wallet and only take a debit card out then return the wallet, I would have a greater chance of getting caught. What if that person hadn't opened their wallet all day, so there was no possible way they could've dropped it? What if that person just saw their card right before they met me, and they put two and two together, and now I'm fucked. Except I'm never fucked. I've never gotten caught during these schemes, and I'll never get caught.
Well, at least I thought so...
That's beside the point, then I take them back to my apartment, and the fun part begins. It's like Christmas morning over and over again. Once I unlock a bank account, I never know what I'm going to see. I never know how many zeros are in an account or if it's a negative. Sometimes, I can tell who hides their brokenness through their mannerisms even before looking at their bank statements. Most of the time, they are overconfident, wearing gaudy rings and watches, and using foul language. They overcompensate for their failures. I tend to stay away from those types of business people, but a couple sneaks by my radar now and then.
Bank security is obviously a bitch to get through. Some are harder than others. Others seem to not be concerned about anyone's privacy. A high school computer science club could get through their security walls. If anything, I'm doing them a favor. They always attempt to bump up their security after the first couple of fraud cases.
Lastly, I take what I need. Notice how I said need and not want. I'm not an aspiring millionaire. I just wanna live comfortably, doing what I love. Depending on how much is in these accounts, I decide how much to take. For example, I met George Harrison a couple of days ago on my usual route through the city. He had a strong 12,500k in his active checking account and an even strong 55k in his savings. He also had some offshore accounts, but I didn't bother touching those. So, seeming as he was well, I skimmed 2k off his checking and 10k off his savings. Seems fair enough, right? That's usually how it goes, anyway. I take 10 to 15 percent of what they have. It's a win-win for both teams, really. They keep most of their money, and I take what I need. It works out great.
Well, it usually does.
That was....until I met Lila Stewart. Everything was normal! Everything was perfect!! Then, Lila Stewart single handly flipped my entire life upside and threw it into a firey pit of chaos. Shall I explain how she did it?
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Hi!! The first Chapter of my newest rom-com is DONE!! I'm so excited to be writing this book. It's alot more laid back and casual then Stolen Love which makes it super fun to write.
Alot of backstory in this diary-style chapter, it's not as exciting but I love the way the whole story ties together. Hope yall enjoyed
vote and comment if you liked it, if you didn't IM SORRY