I’m not sure when things went awry but what began as a lousy Monday got worse with each day that passed. Six weeks later, I found myself fearful of leaving the house, believing the new day would only bring more disappointment. My life was in shambles. Eviction proceedings were imminent as were criminal charges that couldn’t be defended. I was guilty well beyond all reasonable doubt. Collection notices for past due bills piled up by the front door. Whenever I heard the metallic squeak of the mail slot open, it only meant that more bad news was being delivered. If the envelopes weren’t opened then they didn’t exist, at least that’s what I told myself.

The only time I went out in public was at night. Wearing navy blue sweatpants and a hoodie, it was easier to blend into the shadows under the cover of darkness. Now that it was Winter, wearing gloves and a ski mask was less conspicuous. As long as the outfit helped me disappear into the night after mugging a targeted victim, then I’d stay one step ahead of the law. I didn’t care if they nipped at my heels just as long as the cops never caught up to me.

When it came to robbing people or breaking into their homes, I never worried about the finesse of the profession. It was all about timing. Expediency was the key. The more time spent loitering at a crime scene only increased my chances of getting caught. I had been to prison before and didn’t relish the idea of going back.

The last man I robbed surprised me when he reached for a concealed revolver. As we grappled on the sidewalk, I kneed him in the crotch with all of my might. When he collapsed, the gun fell out of his hand. I picked it up and struck him in the head, before running off with his wallet and watch. His moans fell into the distance as I left him to fend for himself. On the streets it was survival of the fittest. If he wasn’t fit enough to defend himself then he got what he deserved.

Between the cash in his wallet and what was given to me by the pawn shop for his watch, I had enough money to last a few days. I knew better than to use the stolen credit cards; it’s why I went to jail the first time. Before discarding his wallet, the photo on his driver’s license caught my attention. His face was my face.

“How could I have robbed myself?” I thought.

Aside from his hairstyle, we looked identical. The color of our eyes and hair was the same, plus he had the same crooked nose as my father and I. We even had the same last name. After I shaved the stubble from my face, our appearances became even more alike. I didn’t have any siblings, at least none that I knew of, and doubted anyone would steal my identity. Why would they want to?

Over the next few days, I visited my twin’s apartment, to return his wallet and gun, but stopped short of entering the building. I stood across the street debating how best to introduce myself.

“I’m the guy that robbed you” didn’t seem like an ideal way to start a conversation with someone that I might be related to.

Regardless who he was, I was a bit envious. It appeared he did well for himself as the building, located in a nicer part of town, had a doorman to greet and help the residents. Whenever my double exited the building, I studied his mannerisms to see if we acted the same way, hopeful that it might provide some clue about whether we were related. I also took note of when he came and went.

After summonsing the courage to confront the situation, I crossed the street and entered the building. The doorman was quick to open the door for me.

“Good morning, Mr. D’Angelo. How are you doing today?”

“Not too good,” I replied. “I seem to have locked myself out. Do you have a spare key for my apartment?”

“You know we do,” he said before disappearing into an adjoining room to retrieve it. “Just drop this back to me when you leave.”

I walked up to the second floor apartment and let myself in. The other “Mr. D’Angelo” had left an hour earlier, presumably for work, which allowed time to be spent looking for the most expensive item to steal. Afterwards, I hoped to find a side door or emergency exit. I’d only return the key after a locksmith made a duplicate copy for my use. Ten minutes into my search, someone knocked upon the door. I opened it to find a middle aged man scratching notes on a clipboard.

“Hey Tom. I let them know downstairs that I’d pick up the key when I swung by for the rent.”

“Oh, uh…okay,” I stuttered, unsure how to respond. Reluctant, I handed him the key. “I, uh…I won’t have the rent until tomorrow.”

“It’s due today.”

“But I don’t have it today. I’ll have it tomorrow.”

“This isn’t gonna be a habit, is it?” he asked flustered with impatience. “Everyone else pays on time.”

He flashed the clipboard in my direction. A list of names was attached, along with an envelope stuffed with rent payments.

“If you give me that envelope then I can pay you right now.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ll do,” he said will a roll of his eyes.

When he turned to exit the apartment, I pulled the gun from my waistline and bashed him in the back of the head with the butt of the gun. Jumping on top of him, I hit him a second time. While he moaned on the ground, I thumbed through the envelope, keeping the cash and discarding the rest. I stood and looked around, to get my bearings. Before leaving, I wedged the gun under a sofa cushion and tossed the wallet on a coffee table.

It was the best haul of my fledgling career as a burglar; just shy of six thousand dollars. The money would run out eventually, as would my twin’s freedom, but there was no point in dwelling on what the future held. At least, for now, there was enough money in my pockets to begin life anew elsewhere. A few hours later, I hopped a bus out of town and never looked back.