I found a FedEx bag stolen by a porch pirate, ripped open then dumped under the viaduct by No Frills. UNIQLO. Leggings and a sweater. As it wasn't an oversize cashmere sweater in a nice green, I'd locate the house and deliver it back. Enroute, I noticed a smell, not that plastic off-gassing, but an unearthly fermentation of dirty gotch and Stinking Bishop. Where on his person had Jack Rackham stashed this bag? Had this package met his and canoodled into a brief but unholy alliance, an olfactory abomination that sat somewhere between a rotting whale and post-November 5th democracy?
Inspired by Reality 24/7 and UNIQLO’s corporate policy regarding porch pirates. iPhone template by Ivan Effendi.
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