we come in with guns drawn, masks black and voices tough. if we’re lucky, we aren’t seen at all. sometimes, we’re not lucky. you see us as you want to see us: as criminals.
we’re not your daughters, we’re not your mothers, we’re not teachers or waitresses or politicians. we’re rolodexes, architects, takers and wheelmen. we’re cop’s enemies, we’re robbers, we’re the ones who know our banks like we know our bodies.