Mr. Burnham

“I know where I placed them, I think,” I said to the hooded stranger – his face covered in the slight shadow – who had appeared as many times as the re-run television show that I watched religiously every weekend. “So now that I’ve got them, with your extremely useful help, you can ‘shoo’ now. Run along.” I gave him the universal gesture to get lost and plopped back down on my couch with coffee in hand. Down on the side was my misplaced door keys – which the stranger got for me – along with the television remote.

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