untitled (socks)
He couldn't find the socks, the lucky socks, his lucky socks, the ones with the repeating pattern of smiling cheeseburgers. He could not find his lucky cheeseburger socks. And he had to leave for his blind date, his job interview, his tryout for the play, his audition for the band, his casting for the shared living situation, his important thing, his very important thing in five minutes! In just under five minutes! He knew it was superstition, that nothing, not even smiling cheeseburger socks, possessed magical powers, but he also knew that comfort created ease, and that being at ease in an important situation, in a very important situation, was like magic. His lucky, smiling cheeseburger socks had never failed him: had gotten him into Harvard, had gotten him his first blowjob, had gotten him his first publishing deal, had gotten him his first girlfriend (but it was another pair of socks which had lost her), had gotten him out of a night in jail, had gotten him into the VIP room, had gotten him innumerable discounts on innumerable big- and small-ticket items. Where would they be? He now only had four minutes before he needed to leave the house. Just under four minutes. They weren't in the sock drawer. They weren't in the hamper. They weren't in the washer or the dryer or behind the dryer. They weren't under the bed. They weren't under the couch. They were neither in or under the dog's bed. Why didn't the dog have a couch, he briefly wondered. They weren't under the sink. They weren't in the refrigerator or the toilet tank. They weren't in any of the other dresser drawers. Should he take a chance? Should he, now that he had only just under three minutes before he absolutely had to leave the house, leave the house without his lucky, smiling cheeseburger socks?