He’d been following you around for a while. All you wanted was to get some chips.
Guess this is what you got for living here.
Doritos or BBQ lays? That was the question, the one you were distracting yourself with while the shop owner burned a hole in your skull.
“Can I help you?” You finally turned and said to him.
The man only scoffed, and walked off.
A time later you came to the counter with your Doritos. The man scanned the bag, though you could see him studying your pockets.
“You receipt?” He asked.
“No, thank you.” You told him.
He only smiled, and set the receipt on the counter, pushing it towards you.
You rolled your eyes and took it. “Yep, I bought it.” You waved it around as you walked out. “A legal transaction with money!”
Racist ass. You thought to yourself as you stepped out.
You’d done everything just as your mother had taught you. Kept your hands out of your pockets and visible, not pulled up your hood, avoided any “uncomfortable” lingo. Still, the man didn’t trust you.
There was nothing in this world you could do to change that. Only move forward and eat your Doritos.
“Ou dummeh! Num poopies!”
What? Great, more of these things.
You’d heard stories from further north. The cities infested with the colorful creatures. From New York to San Francisco, but the spread south had been slow.
The people here hated those things with a passion. Hunters and farmers kept them as in check as they could. But it was inevitable. The fluffies had spread here.
“Num dem dummeh!”
You kept walking. You knew people up north after all, and they’d all told you the same thing: ignore them.
“Dummeh ugwy poopie babbeh!”
Ugly poopy baby? You stopped.
There they were, four of them next to the sidewalk. They circled around a small brown fluffy, and a pile of watery excrement in front of it.
“Huuu nu wan num poopies! Nu wan!”
“DUMMEH BABBEH!” One of them said. “Num poopies ow get sowwy hoofies!”
“Wan daddeh back!”
“’Ou daddeh da weason wed monstah gib scawdies and huwties tu hewd! Nao smawty Huwk nu hewe!”
“Huuu…”
“Gon’ gib wowstest sowwy hoof-“
The fluffy was cut short as you let your foot into it.
“SCREE!” It yelled as it flew away into the grass.
“Munstah hoomin!” Another one yelled.
You kicked it too. The last one ran, leaving a brown trail as it did.
The brown fluffy sat shivering, terrified. You bent down to it, not sure of what to do.
“Pwease gu way munstah! Wiww num poopies! Pwomise!”
“Don’t do that.” You told him, awkwardly reaching forward and stroking his back.
“Nu num poopies?” He said.
“No, don’t eat the poop. You hungry though?” You pulled a Dorito from your back, holding it to him.
“Daddeh sey’ hoomins nu teww da twuff…”
“Your daddy sounds like a smart little fluffy.” You said.
Slowly, the little brown fluffy stopped shivering. He slowly forward, taking a bite of the Dorito.
“Dis bettah nummie dan poopies!” It happily said.
“You bet, Homie.”