Boots

Oh mercy, the boots. The boots on that girl. She was tiny, slender, young. But her boots... They went to the knee. They had the right number of the right buckles of the right size in the right places. They covered her beautiful, well proportioned legs and feet in attitude and raw sex. Plain black laces, far better than anything glittzy. Heels, not stiletto, not clunky, I wanted them pressing into my back. I wanted to take many, many photographs of the elegant arches. I didn't think of that girl enough already, she had to buy those boots when we were shopping...

I love my boots. Waterproof for walking through puddles, big thick soles for stepping on nails and sharp rocks, steel toe to protect my precious tarsals. They've served me well on many an adventure.

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Isaw some boots made of rope at Bonnaroo. Ankle boots with some sort of all natural replacement of the steel toe. But they looked like they were made of rope, too. I was so intrrigued, but I didn't find them til the fifth day and they were all out of my size...

There isn't much better, as far as inanimate objects go, as THAT pair of boots or tennis shoes or Skate shoes...

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