I Pocketed the Change Jar

Whenever I visited, there was a jam jar of loose change by the kettle for milk runs. I'd take a couple of quid here and there, telling myself I'd put it back next time. I never did. It became a little ritual: chat, tea, then a quiet glance at the jar when no one was looking. One day it was moved into a drawer and I felt weirdly annoyed, like I'd lost a privilege I was never granted. I still see that jar in my head when I visit.