Its Socks by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Its Socks
Page 27
“We may be different threads,” Lorenzo murmured, “but we share the same journey.”
Chad grinned. “And the same foot fungus.”
From that day forward, the drawer became a place of unity. The Cuccinellis still quoted Camus. The Wal-Mart socks still partied. But they did it together.
And somewhere, deep in the folds of fabric, a new philosophy was born; “It’s not the price tag that defines you. It’s how you walk through life.”
“Cycle of Consumption”
It gets dark in the laundry room now.
It began with a hum.
Not the usual gentle whir of the Miele dryer, but a low, guttural growl; like a beast waking from slumber. The socks felt it first. A tremor in the lint trap. A whisper through the vent hose.
Then, one by one, the Brunello Cuccinelli socks began to vanish.
Lorenzo was the first. He’d just been washed in artisanal lavender detergent and was air drying on a silk hanger when he