Here are the things I’ve stolen from Spencer Arnoult since breaking into his penthouse: his chicken satay noodles. A Pac-Man t-shirt. A pair of platinum cuff links. My dinner. Two sets of fancy wireless headphones. Engraved chopsticks. A fountain pen. A first edition Asimov hardback. Socks. A small ornate vase. And here’s what he’s stolen from me: my freaking heart. So. He wins.
