we pull into the rest stop by the freeway and he pops open the safe with ease.  stacks and stacks of tens, twenties, and hundreds.  a few steel boxes with "safety crypto" etched on the side.  a state map with two numbers with long decimal points written in the margins and an X just a few miles from one of the small towns to the north.

"and knowing them," your partner chuckles, "the whole damn thing's covered by insurance.  remember when those guys built the huge houses with aluminum wires, spray can insulation, and those bricks of saw dust they called wood?"

"they got away with it too," I look back to my partner, smiling, "and people call us the crooks."  the map leads us to a shallow buried plastic lunch box filled with bars of gold.  we were already set for life.  we wash the old words off the sides of our trusty van once and for all.  we're finally free.