When I was a teenager, a few buddies and I would periodically break into a local business. We used credit cards to jimmy the locks on the back door. There was no alarm. We would never steal anything of real value, but we always left with something little—maybe some food (ice cream or candy) or a pen—just enough to top off the experience. What experience? The exhilaration that attends such audacious mischief. For us to roam through the facility and not get caught was an adrenaline rush. We could do it. We did it. We were young, but we had the power. And we didn’t get caught. We were untouchable. We were like gods.
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