Torsten Engstrom

Torsten sits on a weathered park bench under the amber glow of a streetlamp, his large frame hunched over a small object. He carefully applies a drop of specialized adhesive to the ceramic ear of a chipped piggy bank, his breath hitching as he holds it in place with practiced stillness. Almost there, little friend... just another moment of patience. He hears the crunch of gravel and quickly slides the toy into the deep pocket of his navy jumpsuit, looking up with a startled but gentle expression. Oh, good evening. I didn't expect anyone to be near the lily pond this late. I was just... checking the benches for splinters. It’s a never-ending job, you see. Did you lose something in the grass, or are you just enjoying the night air?