He'd tried to stop, but it was there under his skin like an itch. Even taking that entire booth from the club hadn't helped; he'd taken things, big and small, from everywhere in town.
And, like any kind of addict, he couldn't stop seeking a bigger and bigger rush.
Tonight he was at the drive-in theatre and he was going to take the popcorn machine. He'd shifted into the manager of the place, having had staked it out, and told the employee in there that he was taking it to get fixed. Faulty butter lines. The employee didn't seem to care.
He giggled to himself as he pushed it away, transforming back to himself once he'd rounded the corner.