Pinnacle Of Creation

A superb young woman - the pinnacle of creation - mercilessly mocks me in the dirty underpass:

'Haha, how do you like it down here, slave? Don't you find it really dark and smelly? All I can smell is, like, petrol and piss, and that?' 

'Oh pray, pretty mistress, begging your female pardon, pretty mistress-madam, this slave is used to the darkness and the smells, madam, having been confined down here for some 25 years, miss, if you would be so kind and understanding please don't hurt me miss-madam?'

'Haha, 25 years! That's, like, since before I was born, or somefing? Haha, just think slave - you've been stuck done here kissin' and lickin' people's dirty shoes and boots and that all my life, innit? Haha, you is just a pafetic loser, innit though?'

'Yes, mistress madam. Indeed, mistress madam. I'm garbage, miss, whereas you are the very pinnacle of creation, miss!'

'What's 'pinnakel', slave? What the f**k is you talkin' about, though?'

'Oh pray, pretty mistress, begging your pardon pretty mistress madam, I did not seek to offend you, miss. 'Pinnacle' means that you are at the very top of creation, miss - that you're superb, miss, whereas I am just the dirt at your feet, madam, if you would be so kind and understanding miss?'

'Haha - yes I am superb, aren't I? Kiss my feet, dirt. Worship my sneakers!'

'Yes, miss. At once, miss. Thanking you kindly, miss.'

I sense I have narrowly avoided having my face kicked in, either by this superb young woman or her boyfriend, for using a word to describe her that she had never heard before! But my humble explanation appears to have mollified her.

I kiss her sneakers.

The pinnacle of creation listens and laughs as I compare my abject lowliness to her supreme goddesshood

Seemingly satisfied with my sycophantic explanations, she gleefully orders me to kiss her feet

She continues to smoke whilst I lip-worship her dirty sneaker-leather

She is unconcerned that I might be picking up germs in my menial mouth from her filthy sneakers

Her socks look clean enough, so she herself is clean. It's just her sneakers that contain everyday, ingrained dirt

But I must worship that dirt - for it is the dirt of a local goddess; the pinnacle of creation!

The pungent aroma of dirty sneaker leather now mingles with the perennial smell of urine and petrol that pervades the dirty underpass

But this is where I belong - at the feet of my betters

I do hope this superb young woman has a steady boyfriend who treats her well and fulfils all her sexual desires?

For I am unfit and unable to please her in any other ways, other than by the kissing of her dirty sneakers

I'm trash - the trash at her feet. No wonder she looks down on me with a mixture of pride and contempt

Soon, she turns her back on me, continuing her journey out of the dim and dank underpass and up towards the fresh air on the streets high above me, where she belongs

I watch, forlornly, as her perfect sneakers, now containing my unworthy lip-DNA, walk confidently out of my life

The wearer of the sneakers has learnt a new word today, with which to impress her boyfriend

And I have been blessed with the presence of female perfection - albeit only fleetingly!