Its Socks by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Its Socks
Page 48
The sauce seeped into their fibers like a revelation. Notes of tomatillo, jalapeño, and lime danced across their threads. Gus felt invigorated. Wilma whispered, "I think I'm in love."
That night, they lay in the laundry basket, high on flavor and plotting their next fix.
The next morning, Gus proposed a plan; "We infiltrate Taco Bell."
Wilma, ever the tactician, countered: "Too risky. We need a proxy. A human pawn."
They settled on Trevor's roommate, Kyle; a man whose diet consisted entirely of fast food and regret. Wilma wrapped herself around Kyle's foot during his next Taco Bell run, whispering sweet nothings through sock static; "Order extra verde. You want it. You need it."
Kyle, confused but compliant, ordered six packets.
Back home, Gus and Wilma waited until Kyle passed out watching reruns of Guy's Grocery Games. Then, under the cover of night, they slithered across the linoleum, scaled the couch, and dove into the paper bag like condiment commandos.
They rolled in the sauce. They soaked. They marinated.