he walked out into the midnight and, staring at the moon, didn’t notice the bubbling pile of turbid tar until the bigger part of his left foot had been swallowed.
pulling his foot up and out he examined the strange substance, twanged the strings that had stretched from the pile up to the shoe he now held in his hand.
disgust is the word that comes to mind when one’s shoe has been engulfed by a turbid tar in the nighttime. but he was not at all disgusted.
all of his six senses swapped places.
there was a presence in his nostrils but the muck had no smell. and though it clung to his shoe with a mighty cling, it was not sticky.
belly down on the front porch, he leveled himself with the goo. he popped a bubble and a breath of murk tickled his eyeball before floating up into the night. he stuck his finger in and twirled like spaghetti. he unraveled the strand from is finger, tied a slipknot, and draped it over the railing. he’ll need that later.
it had come up from underneath, he knew, and not dropped from above.
and he had been chosen to bring it back.