July 12th, 2005


(no subject)

The best thing about her shoes was how uncomfortable she looked in them. She walked inelegantly in them, but proudly. Strutted, I should say, in stop animation.

The shoes were beautiful. They were shoes no one should wear. They had some packed chemical powder in the shoes, densely caked like a new rock, and so the heels sparked against the ground, throwing a trail of white electric fire behind her. The top of the shoes had mirrors which reflected people who'd walked on those streets sixty years before, in black and white, all blocked hats and tight hairdos. The heels had a scrolling LCD marquis, and I can't prove it but I'd swear that it displayed what I was thinking. The tiptoes were sharp with orichalcum, the sparking heels were impossibly high, and they were a perfectly dull black.

Yep, they were some shoes. Nobody could have fit in those shoes. That was the point of those shoes. She certainly wore the awkwardness with patrician perfection and perfect unrealistic expectations. She looked thirty years younger in them.

But is that enough reason to elect her mayor?

I think it might be.