I hate you. I hate your loud chewing and your morning coffee breath. I hate how right you are all of the time. I hate the one strand of hair that never stays put. I hate your determination, passion, and intelligence. I hate you for being perfectly imperfect. Most of all, I hate myself for letting you go.

First, the bank I'm robbing has to be near a sewer. Next, I'll need a ski mask, a dufflebag, a wig, and some clay that matches my skin tone. Before this heist even starts, I'll dye and cut my hair then sneak in through the bank's bathroom window, with gloves on, and hide my weapons, mask, and change of clothes (probably in a floorboard or base board). Later, I will go in through the front doors, with the clay on my defining features. I will casually walk to the bathroom and get my things, being careful not to leave any fingerprints. Once I'm changed and prepared, a simple armed robbery will do. (Everyone down, put the money in the bag, blah blah blah.) Then, with the money in tow, I'll escape out the bathroom window and into the sewers. While in the sewers, I'll put the wig on and take off the clay. I'll emerge in a back alleyway and spend a couple weeks at a distant friend's house. Boom, bank robbed.