Stupid college kids, sophomores to be exact. But to hear them talk you’d think criminal masterminds.
Four of them hatched a plan an hour ago over a case of shitty beer. It wasn’t complex or lucrative. But if they could pull it off it would be some tale. And they…they would be campus legends.
Boyce, the ringleader, hushed the group. The infamous bicycle was in sight. All they had to do was steal it.
Robbie, the impulsive one, sprinted over, grabbed the handlebars. That’s when he heard a throat clear.
Caught, red-handed.
“Sorry, Professor Einstein,” he said before slinking away.
The Weekday One Hundred 