Photographers itch for the opportunity, journalists only hope to write the headline. Newspapers and television alike, they all clamor for a photo of Don Mitchell as the scene of a crime.

They call it his natural element, where the criminal is most himself, in the heat of a heist, under the rush of a chase, to say journalists have tried to capture the infamous bastard, was an understatement.

It was Sandford who took joy in clipping the attempts. It was one thing to follow his husband around, trial after trial, getting him out of any consequences just when he tries one last heist. But in a way, the newspaper clippings and photos kept as memories. The bank heist in New York was their first date. The art gala in L.A. was a getaway.

The list goes on and on, maybe Sandford was a hypocrite, that he knew. He enjoyed the rush of crime just as much as Don did, and defending the man heart and soul, again and again, was as exhilarating as any time the two got away for a weekend.

None of the headlines are accurate though, not in the slightest.

No journalist will ever lay their eyes on Don truly in his element.

In the back of Sandford’s pocket, always with him, always there, is a small photo printed off from Milo’s cheap Polaroid. They were drunk, they were dumb, partying after a post season they didn’t want to forget.

Sandy is forever grateful for Milo’s keen eye.

Don’s old hat rests on Sandy’s head, the man’s hand rests on Sandford’s face.

This is Don Mitchell in his element.

Absolutely in Love.