We break into his room and lean laughing against the locked door like in one of those movies where they lose the cops by slipping into alleyway full of mangy cats and pause to congratulate their own cunning. When the laughter’s wore off, I wrestle with my army-green jacket and almost lose, my fingers still struggling to regain feeling from the frigid metal of the Mosin where the DNR officer assumed we were siblings and my mother thought we were hiking. Then the couch groans under our combined weight and the TV struggles to wake from its long slumber flickering, sputtering to life as he leans forward to pluck the DVD from its case and shoots me a knowing grin. I think briefly about the poor sap who will catch us in retrospect, combing through hours of security footage, probably looking for evidence of a crime much more daring than ours. Perhaps my unsanctioned presence will cause them to pause and remember the things they did behind locked doors with the ones important enough to break