Extra Quality - The Park Maniac

The Park Maniac took a step closer. “I don’t steal pets, Mr. Crane. I steal apathy. I steal the comfortable numbness that makes people walk past a bench where a lonely old woman sits every day without saying hello. I steal the silence that lets a man watch his neighbor struggle with groceries and not offer a hand.”

He found a flyer tucked under the windshield wiper of his car. But this one was different. It wasn’t handwritten on cardboard. It was a crisp, white sheet of printer paper. And on it, in a clean, elegant font: the park maniac

Arthur looked up. It had started to drizzle. The Park Maniac took a step closer

At first, they were just sad. Missing: Patches, white cat, answers to “Princess.” Then they got stranger. Lost: One left-handed gardening glove. Sentimental value. Then, the tone shifted. I steal apathy

The man unzipped the bag. Waffles tumbled out, tail wagging, completely unharmed. He bounded to Arthur, licking his face, wriggling with joy.

Then, on a Tuesday, Waffles disappeared.