The Neighbourhood Footslave
Prologue Being a public footslave all your adult life does have some compensations. If you work hard, and serve your female masters and betters to the best of your footslavish abilities whilst you are still young, you may find towards the end of your miserable and humble existence that you are allowed to take things a little bit easier – almost to enter a state of semi-retirement! I am now 69 years old, and this is a snapshot of my twilight years: I am employed as a public footslave in a small, middle-class neighbourhood in the suburbs. I wasn’t always a local, neighbourhood footslave. I used to work as a public footslave at the busy, main railway station in the centre of town, but I became too old for that and just couldn’t keep up with the pace of things there. You see, most of my female customers and betters at the railway station were busy, commuting businesswomen – seemingly always in a hurry. They demanded a quick and efficient boot or shoe shine, and had little time to hang arou