We were checking in to the annual California Martial Arts Tournament when I reached into my pocket and felt something dry in the seams. It felt like tea. Loose tea leaves that were, for some reason, in my pocket. That just made no cotdang sense. Why would I have dry loose tea leaves in my pocket?
So I clamped a bit of the stuff in my fingers and drew out my hand, and it wasn’t dry loose tea leaves. It was finger nail clippings.
Finger nail clippings also made no cotdang sense:
- Why would I have finger nail clippings in my pocket?
- How long have they been in there?
- Why would I collect finger nail clippings, ever?
- Whose finger nail clippings are these?
I still don’t know. I’ve had the hoodie for a couple of years and only wear it occasionally. It’s a branded promotional hoodie gifted to me by the company it came from, and I almost want to write the representative back alerting them that maybe they should get in touch with their screenprinter, American Apparel, or someone involved in the production process. Someone should be alerted that there is another someone sewing pockets, checking orders, trimming their nails, and storing them in unworn hoodies either for safe keeping or as a really unexpected prize for the Lucky Wearer of the Future.
Like, I really don’t know what to say. What the fuck?
You can’t write better fiction, people.