Milo “Sticky Fingers” Fontaine had gone a whole month without a bail hearing. August was nearly over, and the itch was unbearable.
He sat in a Granville Street coffee shop, drumming his fingers on the table, staring at the people passing by with their shopping bags. The temptation was there, sure. He could easily slip a phone out of a pocket or lift a wallet from an open purse. But no, Milo was reformed now. He had a code.
Still, the dopamine rush of being released on bail was calling to him like an ex-lover who somehow got hotter. He needed that familiar moment when a judge would peer over their glasses and say, “Mr. Fontaine, you are released on your own recognizance.” Those words were his fix.
So Milo came up with a plan. He walked calmly into a police station, approached the desk sergeant, and declared with pride, “I have committed a heinous act. You’ll want to arrest me immediately.”
The officer didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “What’d you do?”
“I… jaywalked. Aggressively.”
“Sir, that’s a $50 ticket at most.”
“Fine. I jaywalked while eating a granola bar I didn’t pay for.” Milo leaned in, his voice dramatic. “Organic.”
The sergeant finally looked up, sighed, and grabbed a form. Thirty minutes later, Milo was booked, fingerprinted, and handed a court date. He felt alive again.
By the time a judge released him “pending trial,” Milo floated out of the courthouse like a monk who had reached enlightenment. He walked straight into the sunset, humming happily.
Some people chase adventure. Others chase love. Milo Fontaine? He just chases bail hearings.
