Adrenaline Rush

Today is my turn. 

A gentle tinkle of chatter drifts into the alley where I wait. This little diner is a brand new hit, never before attempted by any of us. It could go either way.

I lean the getaway bike against the wall - poised to flee -, enter the café and place everyone's orders. I fight the urge to fidget, aware that nervous behaviour will draw unwanted attention and arouse suspicion. I hold my empty wallet in my hand, playing the part.

Finally, the white plastic carrier containing today's food is placed on the counter. A quick glance at the door tells me my escape route is clear. 

I snatch the bag and make a run for it, ignoring the surprised shout from the lady behind the counter. She doesn't understand what it's like to be homeless: forced to steal every meal or else go hungry. 

It takes less than a second to jump onto my bike and loop the lunch bag onto the handlebars. I push off, veering into the road and narrowly missing a black cab pulling away from the kerb. The whole sequence is fluid, like a carefully planned routine. 

I look back - something I never do and with good reason: to my horror, the server is pointing after me, shouting something inaudible to a policeman who jumps in his car and gives chase. I hadn't bargained for this. 

I pedal harder than I ever have, the bike wobbling from side to side with the momentum. I weave in and out of the lunchtime traffic, as behind me Moses parts the Red Sea of cars and soars up the middle; lights flashing, sirens wailing.

The muscles in my legs burn from the exertion. My eyes water from the wind in my face. Blood pounds in my ears; a rhythmic whoosh with every beat of my heart, so loud that the passersby must be able to hear it.

Twice I cut a red light; once I am almost taken out by a bus rumbling past, the heat from its engine lifting the ends of my hair in a huff of fiery indignation.

I ignore the protests of pedestrians jumping out of my way. I turn a deaf ear to the horns blasting at me as I force drivers to slam on. Cut left, sharp right, straight over the speed bumps. Right now I am invincible, flying through these streets with the law on my tail. All this fuss over a couple of salad sandwiches.

My back wheel skids on gravel as I make another left turn, cutting down an alley between two houses where the police car cannot follow. As I emerge to safety at the other end I let out an exhilerated laugh that is instantly lost in my wake.

I head back across town to find the others, the stolen lunch swinging merrily from my handlebars. Tomorrow, one of us will go through all this again. But for today at least, we eat.