There is an object which is stolen every day. It never rests in a single person’s possession. Unbeknownst to those who steal it, it is not really whatever it appears to be. But to explain what it actually is would be the cruelest sort of reductive lie. There is no explanation. It exists to catalyze its own theft. It appears sometimes as a car, or a priceless watch, or even a stack of cash. It flows through time and human lives like some bizarre shape-changing fluid, invoking covetous fevers in its thieves and agony in those from whom it is stolen. It is never merely misplaced. It is always taken. To be near it is to be in jeopardy, but to touch it is to become its vector of transmission. Occasionally, such a vector dies while in ‘possession’ of it. When this happens, the next person on the location invariably steals the object. You’d be surprised how many are exposed to it in this fashion. Frankly, you’ve probably been in close proximity at least once, yourself — and even though you could not be aware of these facts, you may have sensed something was awry. You may have even handled it. At least one of you reading this, took it. Was it you?