“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.
“What is your name?”
“Smith. First name’s Harold.” He opened his tiny eyes at me, and I did the same.
Snap, and then it clicked.