Taken For Granted
The pretty Muslim girl takes it for granted that I will kiss-respect her ballet flats as soon as they are presented to me on the wooden footblock beneath my face. She does not interrupt her phone conversation high above me even for one second to acknowledge me; nor to thank me when she has finished using me. Indeed, the only tacit acknowledgement I receive is when she subliminally twists her foot at one point so that the pointy toe of her shoe might better penetrate my menial mouth.
And rightly so, for she is a young woman and therefore my infinite better. It is right and proper that she should not deign to speak to the likes of me, for she is above such things. And thus, as she turns to walk away from me, I am left staring at the empty footblock – a wooden platform now made holy by the residual dirt from the bottom of her shoe.
