Folks, I have many, many, many, many flaws.
If it’s okay with you, I’d rather skip the details and just leave it at that. I’m a decent human being. I’m not a great human being.
But Spain made me a slightly worse one. And I’m kind of okay with that.
Despite my many flaws (see above), I can say one thing definitively: I’m not a thief. Except for that one time when I was 13 and shopping at the mall with my brother, and I accidentally knocked a ring into the sleeve of my giant hoodie, (and maybe I sort of noticed but didn’t say anything because I could totally get away with this and then claim IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, since it kind of was. All the thrill of shoplifting, none of the guilt!) and then I swung my arm and the ring went projectile flying across the store and my brother was not at all happy, I’ve never even thought about stealing. Nope. Not at all.
Not until that day in Barcelona. On that day, I stole something. But I had to. In the name of JUSTICE.
And because they started it.
Let me explain.