Everyone in the village knew Old Man Rufus.

Not because he was wise.

Not because he was kind.

Mostly because he once tried to fight a goat for insulting him.

The goat won.

After that embarrassing defeat, Rufus decided humanity wasn't worth dealing with. He packed his things, stole his own chickens from his backyard, and moved into the forest.

Twenty years later, he was eighty-two years old and somehow still alive.

No one knew how.

Even Rufus wasn't entirely sure.

One morning, Rufus woke up to the sound of something rummaging through his cabin.

He grabbed his walking stick.

"Listen here, thief! I survived three wars, five tax collectors, and my ex-wife. I am not afraid of death."

The noise stopped.

A raccoon slowly turned around.

The animal stared at him.

Rufus stared back.

The raccoon was holding his loaf of bread.

"Put that down."

The raccoon took a bite.

Rufus gasped.

"Criminal."

The raccoon took another bite.

"Repeat offender."

The raccoon climbed out the window.

Rufus pointed his stick.

"I'll remember your face!"

The raccoon looked exactly like every other raccoon.

This did not stop him.

The rest of the day only became worse.

While collecting mushrooms, Rufus stepped into a hole.

His leg disappeared up to the knee.

He stood there silently.

Then sighed.

"Forest wins again."

After several minutes of struggling, he finally climbed out.

Immediately afterward, he found a wooden sign.

It read:

WARNING: PITFALL TRAP

Rufus stared at it.

The sign was behind the hole.

"Helpful," he muttered.

"Very educational."

As evening approached, Rufus returned to his cabin carrying mushrooms.

Unfortunately, he also carried a beehive.

He didn't know it was attached to his coat.

The bees informed him.

Violently.

The next ten minutes involved screaming, running, and negotiations.

"WAIT!"

Buzz.

"I CAN EXPLAIN!"

Buzz.

"I PAY TAXES!"

The bees showed no mercy.

By sunset, his face resembled a pumpkin that had lost an argument.

Life in the forest was peaceful, people said.

Those people had clearly never met the forest.

The following morning, Rufus discovered a young hunter standing outside his cabin.

The hunter looked nervous.

"Sir, people say you're the wisest man in these woods."

Rufus nearly choked on his tea.

"Who told you that?"

"The villagers."

"Those people also thought eating soap cured headaches."

The hunter hesitated.

"I need advice."

Rufus sighed.

Humans.

They always appeared when things were quiet.

"What is it?"

"I want to know the meaning of life."

Rufus sat silently.

Then pointed toward a squirrel.

The squirrel was trying to steal nuts from another squirrel.

The second squirrel punched the first squirrel.

Both squirrels fell out of a tree.

The hunter blinked.

"What does that mean?"

"It means nobody knows what they're doing."

The hunter looked confused.

Rufus continued.

"You're born, you make mistakes, you pay bills, and eventually a doctor says words that cost more than your house."

"That's depressing."

"It's realistic."

The hunter thought for a moment.

Then nodded.

"You're very wise."

Rufus wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

That night, he sat outside watching the stars.

The forest was quiet.

For once.

Then he noticed movement.

Two glowing eyes stared at him from the darkness.

A wolf.

A large wolf.

Rufus slowly stood up.

The wolf growled.

Rufus growled back.

The wolf looked surprised.

"So," Rufus said, cracking his knuckles. "You want my cabin?"

The wolf took a step backward.

"You'll have to fight me for it."

The wolf stared.

Rufus stared harder.

After a few seconds, the wolf turned around and walked away.

Rufus nodded proudly.

"That's right."

Then he paused.

"Actually, I think he was just passing by."

He sat back down.

The stars glittered above.

The trees swayed gently.

The forest remained mysterious, dangerous, and completely unreasonable.

But Rufus liked it.

After all, in the village people called him crazy.

In the forest, he was the most normal thing there.

The Mafia Boss and the Bartender

When people heard the name Vincent Moretti, they got nervous.

Some people crossed the street.

Some people locked their doors.

One man accidentally jumped into a fountain.

Vincent was the most feared mafia boss in the city.

He owned luxury cars.

He owned expensive suits.

He owned enough gold watches to tell the time in every country on Earth.

What Vincent did not own was the heart of a bartender named Leo.

And that bothered him.

A lot.

One evening, Vincent entered Leo's bar.

The entire room became silent.

A few customers immediately paid their bills and left.

One man climbed out a bathroom window.

Vincent walked confidently to the counter.

Leo looked up.

"What can I get you?"

Vincent smiled.

"A bottle of your finest whiskey."

Leo handed him a menu.

"Twenty dollars."

Vincent blinked.

That wasn't how this was supposed to go.

Normally people gasped when he entered a room.

This man was charging him twenty dollars.

Vincent decided to try again.

"You know," he said casually, "I own twelve mansions."

Leo wiped a glass.

"Nice."

"I own a private island."

"Cool."

"I have three yachts."

"Congratulations."

Vincent frowned.

This was not normal.

Human beings were usually impressed by yachts.

Entire civilizations had gone to war over less.

The next day, Vincent returned.

This time he arrived in a bright red sports car worth more than most houses.

He parked directly outside the bar.

Then he waited.

Leo walked outside to throw away trash.

Vincent leaned against the car.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Leo nodded.

"Very expensive."

Vincent smiled.

Finally.

Progress.

Then Leo continued.

"My cousin's mechanic shop will love repairing it."

Vincent's smile disappeared.

The war escalated.

Because that's what happened when rich people ran out of hobbies.

The following week, Vincent entered the bar carrying a briefcase.

He opened it dramatically.

Stacks of cash filled the inside.

Customers gasped.

One old lady nearly fainted.

Leo looked down.

Then up.

Then down again.

"Why are you carrying cash like a cartoon villain?"

Vincent closed the briefcase.

The old lady laughed so hard she started coughing.

Determined to win, Vincent purchased the building next door.

Then the building across the street.

Then the flower shop nearby.

Eventually he owned half the block.

He proudly showed Leo the paperwork.

Leo glanced at it.

"That's nice."

Vincent twitched.

"That's it?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Be impressed."

Leo shrugged.

"I once saw a pigeon steal a hotdog from a police officer. That impressed me."

Vincent stared.

He suddenly hated pigeons.

Weeks passed.

The mafia boss grew desperate.

One night he rented a helicopter.

Because apparently that seemed reasonable.

The helicopter landed outside the bar.

Dust flew everywhere.

Customers screamed.

A trash can rolled down the street.

Vincent stepped out wearing sunglasses.

Leo opened the door.

"What happened?"

"I arrived."

"In a helicopter?"

"Yes."

Leo looked at the damaged flower pots.

Then at the terrified customers.

Then back at Vincent.

"You know, normal people use doors."

For the first time in years, Vincent felt defeated.

He sat quietly at the counter.

No expensive suit.

No gold watch.

No bodyguards.

Just himself.

Leo noticed.

"You seem sad."

Vincent sighed.

"I've spent months trying to impress you."

"Why?"

Vincent looked away.

"Because I like you."

The bartender blinked.

Then laughed.

Not a cruel laugh.

A genuine one.

"You idiot."

Vincent frowned.

"Excuse me?"

"I knew that from the first day."

"You did?"

"Vincent, you bought half the neighborhood."

"When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous."

"It is ridiculous."

Leo poured two drinks.

"You know why none of that wealth impressed me?"

Vincent shook his head.

"Because money isn't interesting."

"It isn't?"

"No."

"What is?"

Leo pointed at him.

"You showing up every week."

Vincent froze.

"You remembered that?"

"You came here thirty-seven times."

"You counted?"

"You arrived in a helicopter."

"Fair point."

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Leo smiled.

"Next time you want my attention, don't buy a building."

"What should I do?"

"Ask me out."

Vincent sat there silently.

The feared mafia boss.

The terror of the city.

The man who had stared down rival gangs without blinking.

Yet somehow asking a bartender on a date terrified him.

Humans are strange creatures.

They'll face bullets with confidence and then panic over a simple conversation.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" Vincent finally asked.

Leo grinned.

"Took you long enough."

For the first time in months, Vincent smiled.

The helicopter had failed.

The mansions had failed.

The money had failed.

Turns out the thing Leo wanted most was something Vincent had almost forgotten how to give.

A normal conversation.

Derek had spent three weeks planning the perfect bank robbery.

Three weeks.

That might not sound impressive, but considering Derek once forgot where he parked his bicycle while still riding it, this was a personal achievement.

The target was Pacific Trust Bank, a small bank sitting peacefully near the harbor.

Derek had a disguise.

Derek had a bag.

Derek had a speech prepared.

Most importantly, Derek had confidence.

Unfortunately, confidence and intelligence are not the same thing.

Human history has demonstrated this repeatedly.

---

The morning of the robbery arrived.

Derek put on a fake mustache.

It immediately fell off.

He stuck it back on.

It fell off again.

After the fourth attempt, he gave up and shoved it into his pocket.

"Nobody will notice."

They noticed.

---

Derek stormed into the bank.

Or at least he tried to.

The automatic door didn't open fast enough.

He walked directly into the glass.

THUD.

Everyone looked at him.

A child pointed.

"Mommy, that man hit the door."

Derek pretended nothing happened.

His nose disagreed.

---

He marched to the counter.

This was it.

His moment.

His destiny.

He slammed a note onto the desk.

The teller picked it up.

Then stared.

Then looked back at Derek.

"Sir."

"Read it."

The teller cleared her throat.

"'Please give me all your monkeys.'"

Derek froze.

"What?"

"You wrote monkeys."

Derek grabbed the paper.

Sure enough, it said:

GIVE ME ALL YOUR MONKEYS.

He had accidentally grabbed his grocery list.

The real note was in his other pocket.

---

Five embarrassing minutes later, Derek finally produced the correct note.

The teller read it.

"'This is a robbery.'"

Finally.

Progress.

The teller sighed.

"Sir, are you serious?"

"Very serious."

"You're wearing a shirt that says 'I Am Definitely Robbing A Bank Today.'"

Derek looked down.

He had bought it as a joke.

In hindsight, it had been a poor choice.

---

Things got worse.

A security guard approached.

Derek panicked.

This was where action movies usually had dramatic music.

Instead, Derek sneezed.

The fake mustache flew out of his pocket and landed on the security guard's shoulder.

Nobody moved.

The guard stared at the mustache.

Derek stared at the mustache.

The mustache stared at nobody because it was a mustache.

---

Then the guard burst out laughing.

Soon the teller laughed.

Then the customers.

Even the old lady sitting near the entrance was crying with laughter.

Derek felt deeply offended.

A man works hard on a robbery, and this is the appreciation he gets.

---

Desperate to regain control, Derek jumped onto a chair.

"EVERYBODY STAY CALM!"

The chair immediately collapsed.

Derek disappeared behind the counter.

A customer clapped.

---

At this point, even Derek realized things were not going according to plan.

He climbed to his feet.

"Listen," he said. "Can we start over?"

"No," said the security guard.

"Fair."

---

Suddenly, police sirens echoed outside.

Derek's eyes widened.

Someone had called the police.

A shocking betrayal from people who apparently disliked being robbed.

The officers entered.

Derek slowly raised his hands.

Then one officer paused.

"Derek?"

Derek blinked.

"Uncle Mark?"

The officer sighed.

The entire bank sighed with him.

---

Ten minutes later, Derek sat outside in handcuffs.

His uncle stood nearby.

"Why would you rob a bank?"

Derek shrugged.

"I wanted money."

"There are jobs."

"I don't like jobs."

"Nobody likes jobs."

The wisdom of generations had been spoken.

---

The bank manager eventually came outside.

To Derek's surprise, she wasn't angry.

Mostly exhausted.

She handed him a piece of paper.

"What's this?"

"A job application."

Derek frowned.

"You want to hire me?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"Because if you try this again, I might actually lose my mind."

---

Three months later, Derek worked at a shipping warehouse near the harbor.

The pay wasn't amazing.

The hours weren't exciting.

But he had stopped trying to rob banks.

Which society generally considers a positive character development.

Sometimes he walked past Pacific Trust Bank and waved.

The employees waved back.

Usually while laughing.

Derek never became rich.

He never became a criminal mastermind.

He never even became a successful criminal.

But he did become a local legend.

After all, not everyone can fail a bank robbery because they accidentally demanded monkeys.

And somewhere deep inside, that felt like an achievement.

A very stupid achievement.

But an achievement nonetheless.