I really like this one. It was an exercise during the writing academy over the summer where we all had to pick a shoe from a table and pretend to be that shoe. Of course everyone should know which one I zeroed in on.
Oh yeah, Saturday night. I wonder what dance floor it'll be tonight? Hopefully a better surface than last week's slumming disaster. Honestly what was she thinking dragging our well-respected 2-inch heels into Lola's? I thought she'd outgrown that purple-fenced sleazy dive 15 years ago. But noooo, there we were walking over cracked cement floors and resting our dainty thin-skinned feet against the graffitied bar. She was looking around the place scoping out the tattoos, long-tailed jeans wearing tight-assed muscle boys. Okay so maybe Lola's isn't bad in a pinch but still we've come a long way. While she was training her eagle eyes on the merchandise some steel-toed, seen better days pair of Doc Martens tried to cozy up to me. I stubbornly kept my pointed red toes facing the bar. I think I actually read "The time is nigh. Repent! Repent!" How did that get written down there? And I didn't know Doc Martens knew the word "nigh". Thankfully we left Lola's intact after almost getting a beer bottle smashed across our delicate satins.
Oh, she's getting the red sleeveless dress that goes so well with our red satin finish and sparkly studded ankle straps. Oh, I know where we're going.
