[ TT ] You have a gift for talking to inanimate objects . Alongside many perks , it makes you an excellent thief ... but you only steal things that want to be stolen .

The constant hum and chatter of the world swirled around Curtis as he made is way down Market towards the Embarcadero. He loathed cities in a way few could. On top of the stench of vehicle exhaust and wailing clarion of distant sirens were the whispers and half murmured words constantly assaulting him. Shop windows displaying their glinting wares called to him or chatted inanely or sang wretched off key arias. If he passed a mail box he could hear a thousand small voices echoing within. The change rattling in his pocked would at times talk quietly in low tones yet only he could hear them. He could hear it all. 
 
 He rarely entered such places unless the necessity of doing so was inescapable. He wore earbuds to help drown out the noise. The pair in his ears had been with him a long while and knew not to strike up a conversation when in use. They provided some measure of solace but it was never enough in the city, there were simply too many things. 
 
 Head down he quickened his pace and attempted to melt the blocks away until he reached his destination. He heard a man hole cover arguing with the near by fire hydrant. A news stand full of magazines and papers squawked at him shouting, `` pick me, pick me.'' A broken toy in the gutter wept quietly. His footfalls led onward until at last Davis St. was ahead. He crossed from Market onto Davis and increased his pace blurring out the sounds until he could just be done with this day. 
 
 The woman never looked up until it was too late. Her eyes were glued to her phone and only belatedly did she try to step away from Curtis as he bounded down the street. Curtis was not a large man but the impact was enough to knock both of them off balance and tumble them onto the sidewalk. Her purse lay spilled on the ground next her displaying it's contents for all to see. Curtis cursed himself. Head down and focusing to drown out the maddening hum he had allowed this to happen. 
 
 `` Help me.'' 
 
 The hairs on Curtis' neck sprung up and a clammy slickness wet his palms. 
 
 The voice was soft and delicate and sounded like a three part harmony. He had heard voices like that before. Certain objects seemed to have similar voices, something like cousins or the members of a family. Little similarities that bound them together and made them distinctive. 
 
 `` Please.'' 
 
 `` Well are n't you going to apologize for running into me?'' The woman was in her late twenties and had the expression of being miserable company. 
 
 `` Get me awwaaaaaaayyy.'' The voice was coming from the woman. Curtis could not deny it. His heart pounded and throat tightened, he knew what this meant. 
 
 Curtis smiled, `` I apologize, truly. Please, let me make it up to you, would you like a coffee? There's a place right there. Wo n't take a minute.'' 
 
 Her pinched face screwed itself as she thought, `` Sure, why not. I thought you were trying to rob me.'' 
 
 Curtis smiled again, `` Not today, c'mon lets get you picked up.'' He helped her gather her things together and they made for the shop. 
 
 `` I'm Curtis by the way.'' 
 
 `` Amanda. So do you meet people this way often?'' 
 
 `` No not usually, I was walking fast trying to save time, does n't seem to work very often.'' 
 
 Curtis looked more closely at her as they walked, eyes searching, trying to find the source of the call. She had on cheap costume jewelry, that could n't be it, the squawk of cheap stones and pot metal could never produce the melodic voice he had heard. 
 
 She smiled at him, `` It's okay, I'm getting a free cup of coffee out of it, at least one of us made out.'' She flipped her hair as she spoke and that's when he saw it. A hair brooch. Mother of pearl inset with natural pearls and platinum. Fiery shards of diamond glinted in the afternoon light. 
 
 `` Help.'' 
 
 Curtis could n't ignore the call. As far as he knew he was the only soul alive that could hear the cry's and lamentations of the items man crafted to fill his world. Rarely did they call out for help. Most were dull things that could only speak the odd word or phrase. Only the truly well crafted items could converse and speak the way people could among themselves. Rarer still did they cry out for aid, it was not in their nature. Curtis had to take the brooch. 
 

