[ WP ] You are a professional pickpocket . You 've just picked someones pocket only to discover that the thing you have stolen is truly horrifying .

Somewhere in San Antonio, Texas, a man was panicking. He was terribly afraid he had lost something he sought to destroy, but all of his searching will be in vain -- for it was taken from him, and no amount of retracing his steps will save us. 
 
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 `` Have you ever gone to shake someone's hand, and then you connect with like a funky stump, or some heinously deformed nub?'' 
 
 Some of the fellows laughed, still looking over the menu. I always order the same thing. 
 
 `` You know how it takes like, every ounce of will you've got to not freak out, and even with all your restraint you probably still winced? That kinda happened to me today.'' 
 
 Jeremy put down his menu, satisfied, and looked up -- `` You did n't get a finger, did you?'' Jeremy was nearly twice my age, but one of the best thieves I'd ever met. I wish I could say that he took me under his wing, but all he ever really does is point out when I'm talking bullshit. An important friend to have, all the same. `` I got a finger once,'' 
 
 `` Bullshit,'' Moris uttered from behind his menu. Jeremy continued as if uninterrupted, `` Wrapped up all in gauze, so's I could n't tell what the fuck it was.'' He put his elbows on the table and motioned with his hands, as if he was unwrapping it for the first time, `` First I saw blood, and of course your gut reaction is to throw it or drop it or whatever, stomp on it like it's a bug you're afraid of, but that at all happens so fast, you can hardly do it before the sort of morbid curiosity sets in, you know?'' 
 
 *Yep. * 
 
 `` Like, now that you know it's gon na be gross, I got ta at least find out what it is. So at first I'm thinkin' it's an ear or something, until I get down to it -- a fuckin' finger, with a little bit of bone stickin' out the end. Looked like some poor sod got his finger torn off by the hulk. I remember,'' He starts to chuckle as he recalls, `` Lookin' up to see a lady on the street staring at me, some guy in an alley lookin' at a severed finger like it's a fuckin' rubix cube.'' 
 
 Jeremy, a great thief, is also the master of uttering awkward sentences to walk in on. The waitress kept a straight face for our order. Jeremy asks if they've got any fingers, and settles on a chicken fried steak. Moris is vegan, keeps a gluten-free diet, does n't believe in tubers, and wo n't eat anything on the menu. Jen orders food to complement her whiskey. I get the fish and chips. 
 
 Just tea. 
 
 Unsweet, thanks. 
 
 Jen jeered at him, `` Do you still have it?'' He began slowly nodded, genuinely, as he started reaching into his pocket, `` I do. Carry it with me everywhere I go.'' He removed a clasped hand from his pocket, gradually opening it to reveal his empty palm, `` Right next to this invisible lump of fuck-you.'' 
 
 `` I sorta wish I got a finger.'' I could n't stop playing with the fleshy ball in my coat pocket. It's covered in this crazy slime but it does n't rub off on anything, so it has n't stained my pocket or anything, and my hand is n't always goopy. It's just got such a crazy texture. It's like scratching your beard but *better*. 
 
 Jeremy joked, `` Why what'd you find, your dick?'' The fellows were laughing and Jeremy grasped the base of one his fingers with his other hand, leaving a portion of his finger exposed, `` Yeah, from what I heard from the girls, a finger might actually be an improvement for you.'' 
 
 I laughed along with them until they calmed down a bit. I let my smile fade as I explained, `` No, I mean, what I got is kinda grosser. But also kinda, way more interesting? I dunno. I dunno what it is yet.'' 
 
 Moris stared at me like I was telling a joke that was n't funny. `` What do you mean you do n't know what it is. Google body parts and scroll till you see it.'' I shrugged. `` No, I mean... it's probably not a body part.'' 
 
 Jen put her feet up on the bench and turned towards me, `` Do you still have it?'' she asked, in the same sort of tone. I got nervous. I rubbed the goopy ball in my pocket as my mind raced about whether I should actually show anyone else. They might take it. They might hurt it. I flipped her the bird and said `` Yeah, it's just right here, on the very tip of my finger, see?'' 
 
 The fellows kept on talking shit throughout the meal, especially Moris, who did n't have any food to distract him from being a prick. I ate as silently as I could without arousing suspicion and wondered what I was going to do now that I ca n't ask my friends about it. Scientists are out, they like to cut shit up to look at it. Same with doctors. Vets are pretty good about that, though, right? Like they just poke at a dog and then they're like'Yeah his leg's broken, here lem me set it.' Maybe I'll take it to the vet. Just rock up and be like'Hey can you tell me what my goopy ball is?' 
 
 Moris and Jen went to go have weird hate-sex, and Jeremy and I stood around outside long enough to smoke a cig. The slime, or whatever it is -- the coating stuff -- had been getting more and more gummy. Like it was drying up. We went our separate ways, I got home, and dropped right into bed. A nagging thought kept me from passing directly out. 
 
 *I should brush my teeth. * 
 
 I groaned and mustered the effort to get up. I took off my clothes on the way to the bathroom and started the faucet running. I paused. Water. The goop -- it was like it was drying. Maybe... 
 
 It happened like part of a routine, like where you have to double check sometimes to make sure you put trash bags back in the trash cans when *of course you did* but you did n't really remember doing it... 
 
 And then I woke up. I felt like shit, but I was in my own bed. I did n't drink *that* much last night, but god damn this headache is angry at me for something. I stumbled into the bathroom to splash some water on my face, but it was pink -- I look up at the mirror and it looks like my nose bled niagra fucking falls last night. I do n't remember doing a ton of blow, but... I guess I usually do n't. I clean the blood off my face and head into the kitchen, trying to recall what happened yesterday, but it's so fucking hard to think through this headache and my ears are ringing like I was spooning a stage monitor all night. Coffee will save me. Through my hungover squint, my eyes settle on a glass of water resting on my countertop with a booger the size of a fist floating in it. What the fuck. I stare at it like it shot my paw as I approach. I remember, now. I found something yesterday. I put it in water and -- 
 
 I reached into the cup to prod the snotty glob, and my finger readily found its way into a long gash in the top of it. It was like a soggy, limp tennis ball. I tried to remember dinner the night before, with the fellows, I was supposed to talk to them about the thing I found, it was super important *what WAS it*... 
 
 The phone rang. I've always kept it on vibrate, but even the fuss that it made against the bedside table was screeching. The boss. My day-job. I ca n't go in. I'm... what? It's TUESDAY?! I let the phone fall to the floor. I walked into the bathroom and tried to snot-rocket out whatever was blocking my sinuses on the way, but it would n't budge. I flick on the lights in the bathroom and I look like a fucking ghost. I feel a tickle in my sinuses and try to sneeze it's not coming. I lean my head back and try to look up into my nose to see -- something move. I could feel it jump up higher into my throat. I clawed at my tongue, hoping to get a hold of anything. I was *trying* to throw up something, anything, between the gagging. Hospital. *but there's doctors there and they'll cut you -- *Oh god, hospital.
