Time to get back into bank robbing

Today I sliced my thumb open on a can top. I was cleaning it off so that the kitties' owners wouldn't come home to stinky, fruit-fly attracting cans. Usually I am very careful about these things, but for some reason my head was in the clouds. Maybe it was because I was visiting this kitty and I am in love with him:

There have been a number of occasions when SB has had to remove this kitty from my pocket so as to avoid me "accidentally" bringing him home with me.

Anyway, you know that feeling you get when you hurt yourself? It's like you are in slow motion, and there is no pain at all at first, but you feel the slicing, broken down into like milliseconds. You have enough time, in that briefest of seconds, to think to yourself "How am I such a moron that this just happened to me?" and then in real life you yell "Fuck" and throw the can top into the sink. Still no pain, but you are scared to look. Scared to know just how crazy that crazy-assed cut is that you just did to yourself. For a second you think that maybe you imagined everything. But then you feel the tiniest twinge of a sting.

I looked down and the blood was running down my thumb, onto my wrist. I rinsed it under water, and I could feel the coolness of the tingle of water on nerviness, and that almost imaginary flapping of the tiny little slice of skin.

This job has changed me in many ways. And my stupidity has changed me in innumerable others. But they have now officially changed my actual identity. My left thumb print is forever altered.