The Camera Heist: A Criminal Memoir

Part One: Our sad young wasted lives

     As wayward amoral teen boys growing up in Buffalo NY, my closest friend Joseph and I were never ordinary nor common among our peers. Sure, we were mischievous, irreverent, uncaring about rules, conformity, and kinda both on the devilish side. Chaos was something in our very blood. Causing it, watching it, and enjoying the show. But something, some indefinable quality made us uniquely different. Yes, we were borderline criminals, but not trying to be, we were chaos itself in the flesh. It was the fact that we scoffed at the rules and laws of the society around us. To be completely honest, we never gave a crap, neither my brother nor I, both of us contemptuous by nature. Screw society, its rules, laws and limits certainly.

As young boys, Joseph and I were utter chameleons. We prided ourselves in blending in, and being the perfect friends and truly brothers of a kind, ideal for our chosen purposes. We had the perfect demeanor, and our chosen wardrobe was beyond repute. We had the looks, the attitude, and gall to blend in anywhere downtown that we never should have, or would ever be allowed to in the first place. Our combined devious intelligence was another matter, and we surpassed normal boys all too easily.

As chaotic boys neither of us conformed, nor obeyed. In fact everything we were was the very opposite of these society based "normal" people. Any wild idea that blossomed into our crazy heads was something we'd often try together, regardless of risk to life and limb. That was who and what we were, young genius lunatics looking to stir up the world.

High school was not a thing either of us ever experienced. I never attended even the first year of high school due to years in a mental institute, and then the boy's home. Joseph ended up stuck in juvie hall, and jail later on, so much that it took away all public school credit, so he never bothered trying to go back. No point to it by then. Both of us, being raised as we were, never once had we ever agreed to follow the "rules" of such a society that we were born into.

We were the epitome of rejects, misfits, or pariahs, if you prefer. Although Joseph was slightly less of one than me.

We both did our own thing, independent of the social contracts of what is expected of all of us, being assumed members of said society.

My brother Joseph and I didnt believe in such things, nor did we really care. We only believed in doing our own thing, screw polite and proper society.

These weren't even common considerations for us. We didn't even think about such things in our young lives. We were both outcasts, often due to our choices, and often from others' treatment of us as well, and I figured it would always be this way in my odd existence.

We did unscrupulous things daily, uncaring of how "right or wrong" they were. Like kicking the old milk machine not far from Joseph's house. It would spit out change from other customers (the ones who were naive enough to actually pay), which we'd use to buy our milk, then kick it again to get the change back. It wasn't murder certainly, or robbing banks, but not exactly moral either. The poor blue milk machine retained a permanent dent in just the right spot where the foot would go, very convenient and easy I must say.

As the most mischievous and wayward lost boys wandering freely in the city of Buffalo, downtown was our perfect boy's playground. We were bold, obnoxious, forceful, fast, and devious as hell. If there was something we figured we could get away with, we certainly gave it our best. At a young age, I had a small studio right on the edge of downtown Buffalo, on the 15th floor of a business tower. This became not just our home, but our lair, and place of literal refuge.

During the days, we cruised downtown Buffalo like we owned the place, no location was off limits to us, unless we were physically ousted, or chased (which actually happened from time to time).

The majestic edifice of City Hall became our main hangout spot, the bathrooms, the city hall cafeteria, the politicians offices, they were all an elegant old school place to pass our wasted young lives. Strangely enough The main place mall in downtown Buffalo, though mainly dead, became our own small strange playing field.

In the food court we'd grab gigantic coffees in the morning and sit in the large vistalike windows there,seeing our playground, sipping sweet caffeine and dreaming of new chaotic deeds to do for the day.

Strangely, we used ties and dress shirts like a sort of psychic and aural armor. We had lots of business ties that we switched out, and we had the young professional look down completely. Being essentially dirt poor, we had to use our minds, guile, and boldness to complete our ultimate business look, to blend it and do what we wanted in downtown Buffalo, whatever that might be.

Little counted to us, besides our personal pleasure, having fun, and various idiosyncrasies of the moment, nothing mattered in the real world certainly. The few things that did matter were our own likes, quirks and satisfactions, and whatever free fun we could squeeze out of this sad world, sometimes alone, and often together. Nothing else had a moment's consideration for us.