This happened several years ago. My best friend and I were driving down a back country road in a stolen Bloodmobile, packed with nine thousand kilograms of pure high-grade cocaine and six hundred bootleg Beanie Babies. When suddenly, we rounded a blind curve and plowed straight into a group of Cub Scouts on dirt bikes. One of the kids was still moving but was in great pain, so I mercifully dispatched him with my 4th Century Roman Ceremonial Knife which I had nicked the previous night from the National History Museum after secretly spiking the diabetic security guard’s coffee with two cups of sugar. We dragged the bodies a long way off in the wilderness and buried them; in the process we accidentally destroyed two whooping crane nests, wrecked a den of black-footed ferrets, and somehow contaminated the water supply of an organic wheat farm which was forced to cancel its charity shipments to Africa, though we didn’t find out about that until later. By that time it was late at night and very, very cold, so my friend let me borrow his jacket.
To make a long story short, time went on, we drifted apart, and I never did return my friend’s jacket. It haunts me to this day. Whenever I open the closet, I see the jacket hanging there, taunting me, reminding me of this sin from my past. So my question is: Should I attempt to track down my friend, and return his jacket? Should I donate it to a homeless shelter in his name? Or should I just keep it, telling myself that my current ownership of the jacket is satisfactory proof that karma has already equalized itself?