A house with an unlocked window.

You walk through the gated neighbourhood unhurriedly, scoping out the houses from the corner of your eye without turning your head. You were quick to spot the security cameras on each porch, and unless you turn to face them directly, the hoodie you are wearing will prevent them from getting a clear image of your face. Having recently turned eighteen, you know if you get arrested again, you will no longer get off with a light sentence and will face a long stretch in prison with your previous juvenile convictions. You are under no illusions as to how well you would fare in the state penitentiary. Barely five feet five and skinny as a rake with delicate features, you would be passed around like candy by the older inmates.

Your practised eye for burglary soon spots the weakness in the security of the fine houses. Above the side porch and door on each house is a frosted window, narrower than the bedroom windows and obviously belonging to an upstairs bathroom. All you need to find is a house where the occupant had a chilli or curry and took a nasty dump and left the fanlight open to air the room in the belief that no grown man could ever squeeze through such a gap. With your narrow shoulders and petite body, though, you knew from past experience you could squirm and wriggle through without difficulty.

The fifth house you pass after making your plan of entry is just what you were looking for. High, but meticulously trimmed bushes border the garden, masking the house from observation by the neighbouring properties. Conveniently situated, wheeled trash carts will give you the boost you need to climb up onto the small porch and access the bathroom window. From the moment you step off the sidewalk, move the trash cart a few feet, boost up onto the porch and squeeze through the fanlight window, a little more than thirty seconds pass. You lower yourself into the bathroom and pause for a minute, listening intently, but the house is silent.