Crime. I like to focus on the scandalous, salacious, headline-grabbing ones — the crimes that rip apart families, destroy lives and keep you up at night. That’s what people want. Or, at least, that’s what I like writing about. The stories that are so wild you can’t imagine them happening in the real world.
But crime is broad, any illegal activity. The word, even more abstract. Olivia Rodrigo’s Triple Platinum song “Favorite Crime” isn’t about a murder or a heist. Last I checked, calling someone “mine” isn’t punishable in a court of law. But, I can’t help but wonder (Carrie Bradshaw reference), what would be my favorite crime?
We all think about how we would pull off a murder even if we don’t have a preconceived victim. These days, though, in a world 
where technology can trace a drop of sweat back to you, and everyone is on camera, murder doesn’t seem very fun. Thank goodness for that; modern serial killers just aren’t what they used to be.
Recently, my dad hung a New Yorker cartoon on our fridge. It depicts a woman bored in front of the TV with the caption, “When are they going to come out with new murderers?” Her husband stands in the background, eyes wide, while she casually munches popcorn. Even Netflix is running out of material; they are now making documentaries about SEC football, Mormons and Piper Rockelle. Maybe I could take a hint from these “non-offenders.” Murder is just so last season. And usually pretty messy. I would settle for something more casual, less destructive.
“Murder is just so last season.”
Still, even if I played by those rules, the world wouldn’t stop watching for the ones who don’t. People still do terrible things, and police still chase them down. I learned that firsthand when a letter from the Boston Police Department showed up on my doorstep.
It was the end of a long school day. Not the kind with two free blocks and a math teacher who forgets it isn’t lunchtime but the draining kind where you just want to get home. I am the type of driver who believes in getting from point A to point B efficiently. This seems like a reasonable goal until someone is going 35 mph in the left lane on Storrow Drive, and I realize that not everyone has similar motives. But living in the city has trained me to be a coherent driver.
So, there I was, speeding up a narrow street lined with parked cars, when I heard a small thud. I didn’t think much of it. Beacon Hill is basically just a perpetual construction project; things thud all the time. Little did I know, someone was watching. A few days later, the letter arrived: Someone reported that a car with the same license plate as mine had taken off the mirror of a parked vehicle that Thursday afternoon.
We sorted it out, but I couldn’t help wondering: Would that be my last run-in with the law? Hopefully. I have too much anxiety to spend my life looking over my shoulder, and I am terrible at keeping secrets.
I think I’ll leave the real crimes to other people. Olivia Rodrigo included. As for me, my favorite crime would probably involve money. Or maybe just a dropshipping scheme. Shop my Depop @lexieclar.
