Chapter 11
A Polka-Dot Predicament
A sophisticated polka-dot sock has gone astray. The phone directs them to a fancy tea party, where the narrator must navigate polite society and the sock's own dramatic pronouncements about its disappearance.
The polka-dot sock, a rather dapper fellow with tiny, perfectly formed red dots on a cream background, wriggled in my hand. "Oh, the indignity!" he declared, his voice surprisingly deep and resonant, like a tiny opera singer clearing his throat. "To be separated from my esteemed companion, Barnaby! We were enjoying a delightful cucumber sandwich, and then… poof! Darkness! Utter, unmitigated darkness!"
I held the phone up, its screen flickering with a new map. "Okay, Phone," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fact I was having a conversation with a piece of footwear. "Where to now?"
The phone buzzed, and a text appeared: Elegant affairs often hide errant hosiery. Seek the scent of Earl Grey and polite clatter.
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