Three inches tall, his shrinking ray in disrepair, Eric engaged in a quick internal debate. It was almost like fate had sent Don to him to help him out of a bad situation.
Eric approached Don's leather shoes. Don remained seated at the desk, his upper body hidden from view.
The smooth leather shoes were as big as a city bus. Eric approached one of the shoes, examined it. He touched the leather with one of his hands. Next, he scrambled onto the toe of the shoe, fighting for a way to hoist himself onto the leather. He slid back, but tried again. He managed to get onto the top of the shoe. He slid forward. The leather loafer had no laces.
He stood carefully, facing the cuff of Don's pants. He had to make Don aware of his presence.
Eric tried punching a fist through the fabric of the pants. His puny blows made no difference.
He could see Don's wool socks. Maybe he could crawl between the pants' leg and the sock...
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