The shoelace on the floor picked up its head and started writhing its way across the matted carpet. The Drunk sat on his couch and watched, sipping from the bottle.
He'd noticed it had moved from place to place, but just figured he'd done it with his feet, or in the lost moments.
He looked for the shoe amidst the clutter. It might be fun, to lace a writhing shoelace.
Would it bite?
But just as he found the shoe, the lace fell limp and lifeless.
Clutching the shoe and bottle, he intently waited for it to return to life.