Portia sat at her desk at the police station working on paperwork. Not being one of her favorite things to do, she periodically zoned in and out. Portia was an undercover officer, so she wore a long pink knit dress with short sleeves and matching pink flip-flops, which lay empty underneath her bare feet, crossed at the ankle, the toes of her top foot brushing back and forth briskly against the other.
In the midst of one of her daydreams, her boss, Chief Rollins walked over.
     �Portia, what are you doing over there?� he asked, watching Portia�s active feet.
     �Huh?�
     �What are you doing over there?�
     �Working.�
     �On what?�
     �Paperwork.�
     �Really?�
     �Yeah.�
     �You never work.�
Portia gasped. �I do work.�
     �Chill. I got a case for you.�
     �Word?� said Portia, perking up. �Is it a murder case?�
     �No.�
     �Drugs?�
     �No.�
     �What kinda case is it?�
     �You heard the story about that foot painter?�
     �The foot painter?� Portia moaned. �I thought you was gonna give me a real case.�
     �This is a real case. This guy is a menace to society.�
     �Psss.�
     �You wouldn�t be so flippant about it if he got a hold of you.�
     �Yeah, yeah.�
     �I want to find out who this guy is and find him and bring him in.�
     �Sure,� Portia mumbled.
     �I don�t sense that you�re taking this case very seriously.�
     �I�m taking it serious.�
    �So I�m not taking the case too seriously,� said Portia with a mouthful of Doritos over the phone to her friend, Jori. Portia was laying in bed in front of the television with her ankles crossed as her bare feet rubbed vigorously against one another.
     �Oh really?� Jori chuckled.
     �Yeah. I mean, who really cares about a fucking foot painter?�
     �I guess the women who got they feet painted do.�
     �Psss. I guess. So how am I supposed to find this motherfucker?�
     �You the cop. Why you asking me?�
     �Oh yeah.� Portia paused to stuff more chips into her mouth. �You could give me some tips, though.�
Jori laughed. �Tips. What the fuck are you eating?�
     �Doritos.�
     �Are they good?�
     �Hell yeah.�
Portia�s dog Chitterling, who she referred to, most of the time as Chits, hopped up onto her bed and headed towards her feet.
     �So you think you gonna have this case wrapped up quick?� asked Jori.
     �I don�t know.� Portia started laughing because Chits was licking the soles of her feet.
    �What�s so funny?� asked Jori.
     �Nothing,� giggled Portia.
     �Portia, you a fucking goofball. I don�t see how you stay employed on the force.�
     �What, you saying I�m dumb?� Portia demanded, before letting out another short burst of laughter.
Jori paused before speaking again. �No. I�m just saying you do a lotta goofy shit.�
Portia�s doorbell rang.
     �Jori, I gotta go. Somebody at the door.�
     �You not smoking weed, are you?�
     �Noooo! That would be illegal.�
Jori laughed. �Okay. I�ll see you then.�
     �Bye.�
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