the smuggler’s bible


Calliope sees the tickets and decides to take them in a split second when the creep leans in to ask her where she goes to school. She smiles and prevaricates, then excuses herself and makes a break for it through the back patio.

It’s nice out. Still not quite full dark and warm enough that the streets are buzzing. She pauses to investigate the stubs by the light of a mascara ad.

Opera—what a shame. Numbered seats means he’d know just where to find her. But easy to offload, Calliope thinks. People go absolutely crazy for the fancy shit.