You Get Used to It (Pt. 2)

So of course I run back to the dumpster and I’ll be damned if little Victoria isn’t standing there with one of the friggin' feet in her hands. She’s holding it up, looking at it like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen, short as her dumb little life is, she's probably right and she has the big, creepy grin on her face too, like the Cheshire goddamn Cat.

Picture this cute little eight year old girl with pigtails and little bows on ‘em with her My Little Pony t-shirt and crazy colored polka dotted socks and she’s holding a severed foot like it’s a friggin' toy doll. That's Victoria, my creepy little neighbor. She likes to bother me and follow me around and stuff and she’s always asking if she can come with me to pick up a body. She’ll either grow up to be a serial killer or a president.

I shout at her and run over and knock the foot out of her hand. She’s all like, what did you do that for, and I’m all like, what the hell are you doing picking up severed feet out of a fucking trash can? That’s when she tells me she saw me putting on the boots and wondered if she could find anything else cool in the bin too, so she came out and looked through the trash and found the severed feet, which she thought were much, much cooler than my “stupid boots.”

The little brat, she wouldn’t know a good boot if it kicked her in the butt. Course, she doesn't have to lug dead bodies around all day. Dumb thing, making fun of my boots. So I made fun of her stupid pigtails and she made fun of the fact and couldn’t get a girlfriend and it kind of hurt a little bit, but she apologized and said there had to be some girl out there with low enough self esteem and daddy issues that would think I was I catch which made me feel better, so it was all good.

So anyway, I tell her about the feet and how they were in the boots and then she starts making me feel dumb as hell because she’s pointing out all the diseases or fungus or whatever the guy coulda had and she tells me to go inside and wash my feet, like I’m some kind of dumb little kid or something. Who does she think she is anyway, my mom?

But yeah, so I get through cleaning off my feet and I come back out and she’s sitting on my couch playing around with one of the severed feet again. She starts going on about how there's not too much discoloration on 'em so they were probably severed in the last eight hours or something. Then she looks at the top of the foot where it would’ve been attached to the leg and starts rambling about how the flesh was a little jagged or whatever and that they were probably done with a dull blade and took a lot of chops. Then she starts theorizing about mob hits or gang wars or a creepy serial killer with a foot phobia and how the cops would probably be looking for whoever the feet belonged to soon and how forensics would have a field day in my apartment, whatever that means.

So she kind of convinced me I should call the cops before she leaves and I was about to until I looked at the boots again. They were, like, a really nice pair of boots. If I told the police, they would just end up taking them as evidence and they would end up just sitting in some cold, dark room, all alone with no feet to feel the holes inside their hearts. These boots deserved a good home, you know. I couldn’t just let the cops come take them away. Plus, it’s wasn’t like the guy was gonna miss them; he couldn’t wear them anymore. He was probably chopped up in more pieces in more dumpsters around town anyways, so what help would could the cops really give him. Like I said before, I live in a pretty sketchy neighborhood, dudes probably got their feet chopped off all the damn time.

So yeah, I sit down and figure I'll finish the rest of my beer and play a little more Madden before I call it a night and hit the hay. But I get this call from work and Leslie, the actual Mortician, is all in a tizzy or something about how there’s a problem with the body. Like there ain't one, and the box was just full of blocks of cocaine. Then, in the middle of Leslie screaming his head off over the phone, there’s this loud ass banging on my front door and someone yelling at me to come out with my hands up. That’s when I lose my shit all over again.