Perhaps the ‘wicked and lazy’ servant in St Matthew’s Gospel was simply shy like me.
The tattooed fisted men had sauntered into my flat, scattering piles of catalogues. I agreed to hide money for the gang in return for protection. It was a good deal.
I heaved the sullied rucksack to a ruined stone farmhouse. Wrapped securely in polythene bags, the filthy lucre was safe from decaying.
Sitting on rubble, I pondered my options. Mightier men may have found another way, but they do not have my life to live. At least I have the protection of tattooed fists.
This was a 100-word challenge. There is a longer version of this story, but the 100 word version is enough for the blog, I think!