Zooey emerged from under the sofa on her hands and knees with the missing boot dangling from her mouth in a comical fashion.

“God Fritz, do we ever clean? It’s like the Salvation Army down there.”

Fritz dipped his head under the couch curiously, “I wonder if that’s where my John Water’s films are…”

“Hardly,” Zooey scoffed, “I thought you hawked those to buy a year’s worth of tickets for the midnight screenings of Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

“I would never,” Fritz started as he reached his arm under the couch, “besides, this is useless, we should save digging under the couch for more important occassions. Like…when we have a party or something. Just think, we get other people to clean under our couch and find our useless junk and make them think they’re doing some kitschy retro party game. It’s genius.”

“People aren’t that gullible, Fritz,” Zooey said as she braced herself against the cluttered coffee table to stand up.

“Fine, but remember…it was my idea,” he said.