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Вор
Thief
I had a sore throat. Mom took a day off. Dad lost his annual report, so he got fired. So no one rushed to their usual destinations. Even grandma. We slowly ate our breakfast. What I’m trying to say is, the thief picked the wrong house.
We heard someone silently picking the lock.
“Professional,” Dad stated, “He definitely knows how to do his job.”
Mom answered, “He should have gone to the attic, instead. There’s a whole bunch of useless things in there.”
“He would’ve taken out the trash,” added my grandma, glaring at me.
Soon, the thief was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He did not expect that big of a crowd in there. He felt a wave of sadness cover him. He loudly sighed and crossed his arms.
“Why didn’t you steal anything?” asked Mom, shaking her head.
“It just doesn’t seem right, you know what I mean?” asked the thief.
“That was a very professional way to open a lock,” complimented Dad, “Can you help me open my backpack? I lost the key to it.”
The thief took Dad’s backpack, and picked the lock with his needle. It automatically opened.
“The zipper on Vadik’s coat is stuck,” said Mom.
The thief picked up my coat and fixed the zipper.
My grandma exclaimed, “The refrigerator is making a lot of noise. The neighbors are complaining.”
The thief stuck his hand behind the refrigerator, fixed something, and the noise stopped.
“Sit down for a cup of tea,” said my grandma, “Here are some cabbage mini-pies. Try them.”
“OK,” the thief agreed, “but please look away, while I will be stealing some of these mini-pies.”
“Why steal them?” we asked, “You can just take them.”
“Just taking them? I can’t do that,” the thief doubted.
But he still tried. He reached out his hand to take a mini-pie. His hand shook. We held our breaths. The thief squeezed his eyes shut, and took the mini-pie.
We applauded.
“I fid(did) it!” exclaimed the thief, with his mouth full.
“I found it!” hollered Dad, as he took out his annual report from his backpack.
“It doesn’t hurt!” I yelled, touching my throat.
I recovered. Dad got back his job. The ex-thief was now selling cabbage mini-pies at the subway. Not as good as my grandma’s, but still tasty. I tried them myself.
I had a sore throat. Mom took a day off. Dad lost his annual report, so he got fired. So no one rushed to their usual destinations. Even grandma. We slowly ate our breakfast. What I’m trying to say is, the thief picked the wrong house.
We heard someone silently picking the lock.
“Professional,” Dad stated, “He definitely knows how to do his job.”
Mom answered, “He should have gone to the attic, instead. There’s a whole bunch of useless things in there.”
“He would’ve taken out the trash,” added my grandma, glaring at me.
Soon, the thief was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He did not expect that big of a crowd in there. He felt a wave of sadness cover him. He loudly sighed and crossed his arms.
“Why didn’t you steal anything?” asked Mom, shaking her head.
“It just doesn’t seem right, you know what I mean?” asked the thief.
“That was a very professional way to open a lock,” complimented Dad, “Can you help me open my backpack? I lost the key to it.”
The thief took Dad’s backpack, and picked the lock with his needle. It automatically opened.
“The zipper on Vadik’s coat is stuck,” said Mom.
The thief picked up my coat and fixed the zipper.
My grandma exclaimed, “The refrigerator is making a lot of noise. The neighbors are complaining.”
The thief stuck his hand behind the refrigerator, fixed something, and the noise stopped.
“Sit down for a cup of tea,” said my grandma, “Here are some cabbage mini-pies. Try them.”
“OK,” the thief agreed, “but please look away, while I will be stealing some of these mini-pies.”
“Why steal them?” we asked, “You can just take them.”
“Just taking them? I can’t do that,” the thief doubted.
But he still tried. He reached out his hand to take a mini-pie. His hand shook. We held our breaths. The thief squeezed his eyes shut, and took the mini-pie.
We applauded.
“I fid(did) it!” exclaimed the thief, with his mouth full.
“I found it!” hollered Dad, as he took out his annual report from his backpack.
“It doesn’t hurt!” I yelled, touching my throat.
I recovered. Dad got back his job. The ex-thief was now selling cabbage mini-pies at the subway. Not as good as my grandma’s, but still tasty. I tried them myself.
