I steal his chip

A crumpled foil bag rested beside a sleeping man on the rug, his heavy breaths steady and low. I slid forward from the dark rim beneath the couch, limb by silent limb. At the table leg, I paused in complete stillness. My narrow black fingers reached up toward the folded foil lip, easing inside without a single crackle. I pinched one curved, salted chip between two fingertips and withdrew slowly into the shadow. When the man shifted his weight, I stopped, chin pressed flat to the cool floorboards. He settled back into sleep. I kept the crisp prize tucked against my ribs, untouched and intact