You clock that the gangster one block over who robs banks has a nice truck or that your neighbor the thief has a flatscreen TV or that the guy turned sicario started wearing designer shoes. Then you compare them with the doñas who work from sunup to sundown in the factory or cleaning rich folks’ shit-crusted toilets in their bougie houses or selling donuts and never catch a break. You compare what a burglar makes with what you do busting ass and, real talk, mijo, you get the itch to rattle the cage, grab the bitch by the scruff, roll the dice.
