The glass bottles clinked with every step, sounding like a mobile bar.

"It’s not what it looks like," Leo hissed, shielding his eyes.

"It looks like you're using my bin as a graveyard," Arthur replied, walking down the drive.

Around 11:00 PM, the street fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the distant hum of the highway. Arthur was scrolling through his phone when he heard it—the skritch-skritch-clatter of a bin lid being disturbed.

He had to wedge the pizza box under the rim just right so the mechanical arm of the truck wouldn't leave a trail of pepperoni-grease cardboard across the asphalt. The Midnight Visitor