I was sucking on a succulent cherry blue and white snowcone when I saw your boogers crossing the street carried by a team of 338 carpenter ants.
Moments before, I heard a woman scream as you plugged up one of your nostrils and violently shot your clogged nose remnants onto the sidewalk.
I smirked gently as you licked your lips at me.
Not the lips on your face.
Instantly, my skin turned green.
I became glorious and gnarly and the grumptors came silently, swiftly.
I am the moon.
If this sounds like something you did on Saturday afternoon, contact me.
You were wearing nothing but a smile.
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