“Holy crap, it’s like a portal to another world or something.”

Scruff sat in the pile of knick-knacks, his arms buried up to his shoulders within the impossibly deep carpet bag. “Oh, hold on. I’ve got something else,” he said, pulling out a cheap lawn flamingo. He tossed it next to the ceramic gnome and rusty sprinkler.

“I don’t like it,” said Hurk. “I mean, we just wanted the lady’s wallet. How are we gonna move all this crap?”

“Relax, I know a guy. He’ll pawn off most of the smaller stuff. We can check with antique stores for the rest. These skis have got to be worth something.”

“Scruff, they don’t even match.”

“Maybe I’ll find some more in here. This thing’s huge!” He reached in for another load.

Hurk was wading through the mess, sorting through the trinkets with his foot for anything remotely valuable. A pair of jeans. A box of markers. A broken yo-yo. Suddenly the sound of barking came from the bag.

“A dog?”

“No,” said Scruff. “A cerberus! Three heads! And he’s just a puppy! Can we keep him?”