Smartly-Dressed Man vs Weed

A smartly-dressed man approaches me late at night. Oh how I envy him having the freedom to walk about and to wear clothes – both things a public humble-head slave like me can never be permitted to do! I'm just a weedy man, down amongst the other weeds!

A smartly-dressed man approaches the footslave weed

'You're gonna kiss my feet, boy!'

'Yes, master sir. At once, master sir.'

I like the way he calls me 'boy', even though I am even older than him!

The word 'boy' in this context signifies my status - that I am a lesser man than him!

And who could argue with that?

After all, I'm not the one with the word 'slave' written above my head, naked and confined in a brick wall!

I take solace in admiring the rich man's socks as I kiss-respect his brown shoeleather

His socks are grey, to match his suit

He watches me from on high as I pay humble homage to his superiority

Then, without a word, he turns and leaves me to rot in the dirt behind him

The fact he is heading back in the direction whence he came indicates his determination to visit me purely to humiliate me and thus feel good about himself

I hang my head in humble shame

I am not worthy to look at this magnificent, mighty man above his socks!

His SOCKS!

His SOCKS!

Even his SOCKS are better than me!

His SOCKS!

 

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