[Bus stop at the corner of Franklin and Hennepin. Insanely cold. Dark. Exhaust freezing midair in car headlights.]
Guy 1: Anyone lose a sock?
[None of the ten people waiting answers him.]
Guy 1: There’s a sock right there. In the ice. Anyone lose this sock?
[Everyone pretends this isn’t happening.]
Guy 1: [digs sock out of the solid ice on the sidewalk, holds it up: A stiff, cardboard cut-out of a sock. It’s gaudily striped in 7 seven different colors.] Anyone?
Guy 2: Holy shit.
Guy 1: What?
Guy 2: That’s MY sock.
Guy 1: Yeah? It was right here.
Guy 2: Let me look at it. [Takes frozen sock.] Yep. [Rolls up one leg of his snow pants to reveal he is wearing an identical sock, same gaudily-colored stripes.] I lost it like a month ago.
Guy 3: NO. WAY.
Guy 2: [putting frozen sock in his backpack] I must have dropped it on the way to the laundry down the street there. That was like a month ago.
Guy 3: NO. FUCKING. WAY. THAT’S *YOUR* SOCK??
Guy 1: Well, there it is. That’s why I was meant to go in to treatment today. To find your sock for you, brother.
[Guy 1 and Guy 2 give each other a hardy, backslapping bro hug.]
GUY 3: THIS MAKES NO GODDAMN FUCKING SENSE! NO WAY. HE JUST WALKED UP HERE AND *FOUND* YOUR SOCK?