Jacob was sauntering down the refuse-studded street early one morning on his way to school when he noticed a glob of phlegm perched like a seagull on the apex of a military statue, in the middle of the sidewalk, regal and pristine in its aloneness. He stopped and studied it for awhile, knowing better than to touch it or to try and pick it up, even though it called to him seductively. People hurrying to work scurried around him as he hovered protectively over the phlegmy glob, still staring.
He thought of giving it a name: Mr. P., Blobby the Phlegm Man – then he saw a familiar pair of Nike-shod feet walk by him, belonging to Jeff from his class at school.
“What tha …” Jeff stared at the ground; he too became transfixed by the perfect pearlescent puddle.
“Man, there’s even colors in it,” he marvelled. Jacob looked over at him without straightening up.
“Yeah, where?”
Jeff snickered and slapped him on the back, between the shoulder blades.
“You been starin’ at that shit for all this time and you didn’t see the colors in it?” Jeff forced Jacob’s face toward the pavement. “Lick it up, asshole.”
Just before his face met the ground, Jacob turned his head to the side and wrenched himself upward against the pressure of Jeff’s hand.
“Go kiss it yourself, you f—ing phlegm lover!’, Jacob shouted, shoving Jeff so hard that he bounced off a nearby storefront window.
That’s when he made his fatal mistake – turning his back on the enraged other boy. Jeff reached into the depths of his lungs with all the pigeon-breasted muscularity a nine-year old can muster, dug up a copious quantity of moist mucus, and propelled it towards the back of Jacob’s gray t-shirt, where it landed, triumphantly, glistening in its filthy purity. Unknown to him, Jacob wore it all the way to school.
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That was hilarious!