The Gift

Followed my nose to it in a nest of socks at the bottom. It smelled. Not strong. Not bad. Not really. Just metallic and salty. Guess it's the smell you smell when rot hasn’t happened. Yet. The toe was male. Big. Blunt. Nail trimmed short, but not carefully. The other cut was jagged as well. Not surgical. Panic? Manic? I pocketed it. Sat on the bus, rolling it between my fingers. When I got back, he was out. Somewhere. I double bagged my little treat, and tucked it at the back of my freezer drawer. Behind the peas. In my room, I sniff my fingers. The way he probably does after a date.