Mark

When you were little, you were 5 and your friend was 7. You were friends almost from the cradle, and your mothers sometimes talked.

You're playing in the sandbox one day, and suddenly he asks:

• What do you want to be when you grow up?

You looked at him, thought for a moment and answered: — A thief! And you? — To the police.

You looked into his eyes somehow differently, a little differently:

• You won't catch me, will you? “I won’t catch you if you’re a professional,” he grinned, and you continued making Easter cakes.

You'd been in touch for 20 years, but less and less each year. In the last year, the only times you'd seen each other were when you were stealing something and he caught you.

This time was no exception. You stole a diamond ring, the police were already called, and your friend, Mark, who had broadened his shoulders and grown taller, caught you.

“Uncle policeman, please let me go,” you said, placing your hand on his shoulder.

He looked at you with a sly look (or: with a familiar squint) and said: — I give you 10 seconds. The countdown has begun.

You rushed towards the exit.