The Sock and the Garbage Can
February 2, 2009
“Where is the sock?”
He asks me, I don’t tell him about tying it around his throat at night, the trickle of snot, the wiping up of floors. I used it to spot mop, once.
“What sock?!”
I’m lying to the interrogator, he’s a total dick. He smells like English cheese and his teeth are dirty.
“YOU KNOW GOD DAMN WELL WHAT SOCK!!!!”
Again and again, repeating the question. We go on like this for — hours? Days? Months? — he asks me about the sock, I tell him I don’t know what he’s talking about, “what’s a sock? I only wear sandals!”
He doesn’t buy it, he’s a smart one. Not like the last dummy they sent, he gave up after a few hours.
The sock is hidden. I put it in the trash can.
