We stumbled through the slick streets. Our feet moved in jagged angles as we tried to avoid the small, fat creatures that had been evicted from their homes due to flooding. Brown worms, some with their bodies flattened, their soft skin branded with a fresh footprint. There was one lying a few feet ahead of me. It was a large one. Juices from its plump body oozed onto the sidewalk. Both ends thrashed about., its nerves shaken.
I am laughing too hard. My sides are hurting from the last joke you made, something about a large woman sitting alone at cocktail hour. I see spit burst from your lips. You flash your perfect teeth, but I spot some lettuce stuck in the top row, a little off center. I reach over to flick it out. Dig my nail in your mouth, watch your body jerk away from mine; see how you like it when I lunge for you unsolicited. But my spitefulness gets the best of me. My heel glides against the wet pavement. My ankle rolls, and there I am falling, my leg throbbing before I hit the ground.
Without hesitation you grab for me, and I equate the pain shooting through me with your arms wrapped around my waist. The ground is unforgiving. My knees scrape against the surface, and all I feel is my body aching and your hands upon me. The worms crawl into my open sores and call them their new home. It is wet and moist and smells of iron, but they prefer it to the rain, and they prefer me over you.