So I went home.
And for once, I stopped asking nicely.
Part 4 — The Box on Clark’s Porch
I spent that evening gathering everything.
Security-camera photographs.
Dates.
My itemized gasoline bill.
And something else.
A list.
Not just of the gas.
Of all the things Clark had borrowed from me over the years and never returned.
The extension cord.
Socket set.
A few smaller tools.
Things I had asked for so many times that I’d almost stopped thinking of them as mine.
I put everything inside a cardboard box.
I also tossed in an old Monopoly “Get Out of Jail Free” card I’d found in a drawer.
Nancy had kept an ancient Monopoly set in the hall closet for years.
I figured she’d appreciate the joke.
Across the outside of the box, I wrote in thick black marker:
SINCE ASKING NICELY DIDN’T WORK.
Then I taped an enlarged security-camera photograph of Clark standing beside my truck to the front.
The next afternoon, I placed the box on his porch.
With the photograph facing the street.
Around five o’clock, I heard him from inside my kitchen.
“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”
Apparently, he’d found it.
