So, I'm lifting this small, Asian dude up in a trash bag, right? I'm lifting him and he's in it. I mean, he's really in the trash bag! It was Halloween and he was dressed as President William Howard Taft and he wanted into the bag. I was dressed quite shoddily as a pirate, so he got in! I'm lifting him and the bag and I'm saying "no, really, I think I can do it." I walk around for a few seconds with the bag lifted a few inches from the tile floor. The entire thing feels like a success and everyone is laughing - including the dude in the bag, whose laugh sounds, because of the plastic bag, like it's coming from the dark inside of a piccolo snare drum. The bag finally tears and my roommate spills out onto the floor with his drink, as a tall, lanky figure comes out of a seeming nowhere from the left to join the fray. The Scrapper latches himself in a frenzy to my neck and head and makes moves to crawl onto my back. His movement is in vein. I'm immovable. He leaps off with a bounce and tries to push against my weight. Once - twice he tries, while laughing, to shoulder me into hell, but I just won't budge. I pick him up and throw him down the hallway with both hands like yesterday's trash. The time spent hanging in the air is impressive, and he lands smooth to the floor with a slide. He comes to a gradual stop by the front door, and everyone is laughing again.
I think we're friends.
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