Shoe

The shoe flew across the room with grace. It was almost as if someone threw it. I followed the shoe, hoping it would lead me to the destiny. The shoe had proved its value a long time ago, when pens were and pens, chocolate was chocolate, and the earth was blue. I trusted the shoe. I knew its wisdom. This was no ordinary show I was dealing with. I followed. By now we had passed the table and were almost halfway across the room. Even though it had been at least a second in flight, it had seemed like nothing. Goat. February was coming to an end, and so was the shoe's journey, and most importantly, so was I. The shoe hit the wall, and fell onto the counter with such skill, you'd think it was an athlete. It wasn't, it was a penny loafer.

THE end.

By Corn Syrup

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