How The Weak Have Fallen!

38 year old Ms Chantelle Madam has come to gloat over me on this cold and frosty evening. She has heard that, in the very week when she has just been promoted to the position of Senior Accounts Manager in her organisation, thereby nearly doubling her female salary, I have been demoted from my role as public shoelicker at a prestigious public-shoelick stand in her local railway station to that of a backstreet ornamental footkisser.

How the weak have fallen!

Ms Chantelle Madam couches down close to my face so that I can smell the remains of her evening meal (lamb curry) on her breath, and she asks me if I am hungry? She then answers her own rhetorical question by saying that I must indeed be hungry since there is a paucity of dirty shoes and boots to lick on this disused patch of waste ground that is my new ‘home’! She then kindly offers to feed me her sneaker-dirt – the dirt, she reminds me, of a rich and powerful young woman – and orders me to first kiss, then lick, her filthy, street-soiled sneakers.

No wonder she eventually walks away from me with a self-satisfied smirk on her pretty face. It is clear who is the winner, and who the loser, in this life!













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