Quarters with Teeth
A man walks into a tollbooth to make a call to his wife. He searches his pocket for a quarter, to his dismay, finding only gum wrapers and a bit of lint. His blue jeans are too tight for a truly through search and it takes much effort to simply reach the bottom of his pocket. He curses politly under his breath, but then feels something against his hand. A warm wet sensation on the ends of his fingers. Startled, he draws back his fingers only to see normal, healthy, uninjured, dry fingers. A sigh, revoking his childish apprehension, and the fingers go into the pocket again, right into the waiting fangs of the unseen. The man issues a scream, but it is cut short as his shoulder enters his pocket. Soon there is nothing left.
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This post is about Mark.
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