EXOTIC PETS
by Ken Liu

I look through the adult section of the city classifieds until I see the code phrase: “exotic and wild.” The address is in a part of the city where people with jobs and families and clean clothes never go.

Quietly, I make my way through the dark night, passing under broken street lamps, between empty lots filled with trash and gutted buildings taken over by squatters, to a run-down two-family house. A single light is on upstairs.

I crouch down and push off with my powerful legs. In a few silent, long arcs, I leap through the alley between the house and the warehouse next to it, until I’m in the backyard, and nobody has noticed me. My skin is clammy again, and I take a large gulp of water to keep myself hydrated.

I pick up a rock from the ground, and climb up the back stairs, moving slowly so as to minimize any noise, until I’m on the second-floor landing. In front of me is a door with a glass window, and I squat and slowly lift my head until I’m peeking into the kitchen. A man is playing with his phone while a TV drones on in the background. There’s a cash box on the kitchen table.

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