The curtains parted and the Cookie Monster gazes out, eyebrows angled down, a frown on his face.
And he returns inside the building. The man counts to thirty before crawling out of his hiding place behind the mailbox.
He ducks and sprints over to the front gates of the rundown estate, narrowly avoiding the gaze of a patrolling Muppet, sixty meters away. The gates are locked tight with a thick iron padlock, and there is no way in to the compound. Just as planned. The man turns from the gates, and walks to the rubbish bin beside wall.
Avoiding the Muppet with the shotgun not so far away, he begins to climb. Slowly he pulls himself on top of the sliver aluminium bin and prepares himself for another struggle. But then the plan changed.
“Who is it? Who’s there?”
The bin trembled. Another grunt and it shook once more. The man kept still, balancing his weight as equal as he could.
Oscar the Grouch was in that bin.
Not yet done.