The Park Maniac [better] File

Then, on a Tuesday, Waffles disappeared.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a worn leather notebook. “For six months, I’ve watched you walk this park. Every dawn. Same route. Same coffee. Same dog. You speak to no one. You smile at nothing. You are, by every metric, a ghost in your own life.” the park maniac

“I’m sorry about Waffles,” Dr. Vane said, tipping an invisible hat. “But you haven’t petted him with both hands in three years. He noticed. So did I.” Then, on a Tuesday, Waffles disappeared

Footsteps.

At 11:57 p.m., Arthur stood in the crumbling bandshell. The moon was a dirty thumbnail. The swings creaked in the wind. Every dawn

“Where’s my dog?” Arthur growled.

The Park Maniac smiled sadly. “I’m not a monster, Mr. Crane. I’m a therapist. A very unconventional one.”