The Park Maniac [ Exclusive | Roundup ]

“You came,” the man said. His voice was soft, like worn felt.

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

I have Waffles. Meet me at the old bandshell. Midnight. Come alone. No police. “You came,” the man said