The troll is closing fast, and I leap a pile of rubble to slow it down as I swing my Bottomless Bag™ around and begin to rummage. Why do I pick up so much crap? I toss a big rock over my shoulder, then a half-rotten leather belt, a bundle of cloth, and—is that a thigh bone? The troll roars, and I curse the lack of pockets or nifty dividers. Empty potion bottle. Fishing rod. The troll nearly has me. I reach deep, finally coming up… with a rusty fork. If I survive this encounter, I plan to sue.
Author’s Note: Or, you know, stop putting so much crap in my purse. Either or.
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