The Campsite Tills Hit

I spent the summer living out of my old camper van, drifting between campsites because rent was something I couldn't touch anymore. I told people I was travelling for the freedom of it. The truth was I was broke. I shopped in the little camp shops every day. Bread. Milk. Basics. And while no one was looking, I slid extra items down inside my shorts ' pockets sewn deep enough that nothing fell out. Cheese. Bacon. Tins. Chocolate. I'd pay five pounds at the till and walk out with closer to thirty. I told myself it was survival. That big companies wouldn't miss it. But these weren't big companies. These were small places run by tired people. I did it all summer. Never once got caught. And that still unsettles me.