This is my first Plinky prompt in quite a long time. It hasn't gone away - I did - but I think I'm going to start using it much in the same why that I did with the prompt "who was your first kiss?" - rather than reply with banal bullshit, I'm going to make up stuff. So don't worry - the following isn't true.

This was a perfect moment.

Standing in front of my open wardrobe. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathing feels good. Breathing I can rely on for the time being. And there's that moment, just standing here, where there's the thrill of what's ahead, but the calm of where I am. If I thought about it, perhaps this was why I did it every year - not for the actions themselves, but for this moment.

In front of me were four three piece-suits, hanging off the rail, a few dress shirts, and right on the end, a clown outfit. It stood out, leering at me, daring me to put it on. Once every year, I succumbed to its evil charm, but the rest of the year was a bitter struggle between my self-determination and its garish attraction.

Today, though - Valentine's Day - was that one day, and I slowly climbed into it. God knows what was going to happen this year. Last year, I went to the park and screamed at the couples like a spastic, rabid creature from hell, and ended up spending a night in the cells for disorderly behaviour. The year before that, I went to town and made obscene balloon animals for small children. And the year before that, I killed a man. No-one ever found out. Putting the outfit on was a symbolic acceptance that my actions were to be totally unrestricted, as manic as possible, because every other day of the year I was as dreary as everyone else, stuck in a job where love was one of those dreamed-of concepts that no-one had ever seen. You might have called my actions cynical, spoiling the day for everyone else in love, but it wasn't quite that - when the outfit came on, my mind took a trip outside, and my instincts took over. For one beautiful day, the animal inside me got transferred from a windowless box to a cage - I wasn't out biting people, but people could glimpse something feral.

Just for a day, mind you.

I stepped out of the house.

CJF.

OK, so imagine - impossibly, I've just robbed a bank, and in the boot of my car I've got three million dollars in cash. Exciting, right? So, with all this untraceable money, where do I go?

I'd go to Goodsprings, Nevada.

Goodsprings is bordering on a ghost town, a few miles south of Las Vegas, with a population of 232. There are few opportunities there, and it certainly isn't a place to dump a load of disposable income. So why would I go there, rather than head on up to Las Vegas?

The simple answer is for irony's sake. The fact is, with three million dollars, I wouldn't know what to do. I'd end up corrupted. I'd end up more interested in the money than the stuff I'd be spending it on. That amount of cash, despite our heady capitalist mindsets, would just be a curse.

Call me stupid, but I'd be burying that money in the dust and heading my way out of there. I'd rob a bank, sure, but it'd be for the sake of chaos, not for my own financial gain.