my mouth waters immensely whenever I see a pickle. Knowing the wet, briny, tangy girth of that green monstrosity of a cucumber, I can’t help but want it inside my every hole. The ear pleasing crunch, the juices seeping from each pore, grotesquely jutting out of the misshapen bumps along each side, pleasuring my mind, mouth, and soul just by holding it’s slimy outside after being bathed and drenched in vinegar mixes, it is finished. I crave more pickles.