You don't want to risk running back under that herd of wildebeast plumpers. You've beomce entangled in the line to the register and everywhere you look is a parade of huge corpulent legs and sagging bags of fat hanging off thighs, all stomping their way toward the register and making the earth shake. Giant mouths smack their lips loud enough to hear as they hungrily and impatiently lumber toward the smell of greasy tortillas steaming to the ceiling.
You can't go out there again; it's safer hiding under the dress of this morbidly obese cow than to risk getting stomped by the flurry of bloated feet pounding into the floor. You know you made the right decision when you hide underneath the heffer and see the row a gelatinous asses bumping smacking against each other.
You hide against the heel of the colossal black woman with your back to her foot. A chill runs down your spine seeing it hovering overhead; the thick, coarse heel bulges out over the end of a giant, creaking open-toe sandal. The massive billowing skirt casts an inky blackness on the sloshing fat underneath and the dank smell of warmth is emanating through her damp underwear. The dress traps in heat and the sides of those distorted blubbery legs are bouncing and rubbing themselves together. You could try touching that giant, bulging heel to get her to notice you, or you could run ahead and climb up her foot if you try hard not to get crushed.
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