Bank Job

“Hey Ed! Felipe’s here!” Ty called, peering out the window.
Ed sat up in surprise. “Felipe… Felipe… who’s Felipe again?”
“He’s the driver from Ontario.”
Ed balked. “You mean the dude who’s his girlfriend’s getaway driver?”
“That’s the one.”
The door opened, and the infamous Felipe staggered through the doorway. He nodded a greeting to Ed, and shook hands with Ty.
“Man, last night was loquisimo,” he sighed, plopping on the couch.
“What happened?”
“Well, my girl and I went to do a job at a bank, but it was crazy, man! It was full of monjas, dude!”
Ed stifled a snicker. He picked up his guitar and picked away with a little ditty:
It should have been filled with the usual ones, throwing their cash into mutual funds. We all had our ski masks and sawed off shotguns. But how do you plan for a bank full of nuns? I guess we panicked – we all have taboos; they were like zebras; they had us confused. We should be in condos with oceanfront views; instead we’re most wanted on the 6 o’clock news.

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