You are waving to me, and your eyes, bright. I get closer, anticipating our exchange. I stand before you now, and you say, "Crap!!! I found the pack of socks I bought from Kmart three years ago!" You hug your six pairs of bright whites, closing your eyes for added drama. I stumble back, shocked, saddened. In a fog of rage, I attack you with bug spray. You shrivel up but, out of courtesy, crawl into the toilet bowl where you'll conveniently be flushed away, and die. I steal your socks and put them back in the corner of my mind. Don't be going though my shit like that again.