A Bed for Mr. Socko

The iron pipes were clanking loud enough to rattle my teeth, but Mr. Socko was getting sleepy! I couldn't just let my new companion sprawl out on the cold, oily floor tiles for the night. Down in a dim recess behind the water heater, I discovered an empty, discarded sardine tin crusted with dark rust. I swept out the dry cobwebs with my bare knuckles, humming a low, rasping tune. Folding a frayed yellow cleaning rag in half, I stuffed it deep into the tin to make a tiny cushioned nest. I carefully slipped the sock off my right forearm, folded his floppy heel, and tucked his charcoal face right beneath the cotton brim. Rest easy, friend! Have a nice day, dreamland!