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!
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A smartly-dressed man approaches the footslave weed |
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'You're gonna kiss my feet, boy!' |
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'Yes, master sir. At once, master sir.' |
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I like the way he calls me 'boy', even though I am even older than him! |
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The word 'boy' in this context signifies my status - that I am a lesser man than him! |
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And who could argue with that? |
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After all, I'm not the one with the word 'slave' written above my head, naked and confined in a brick wall! |
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I take solace in admiring the rich man's socks as I kiss-respect his brown shoeleather |
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His socks are grey, to match his suit |
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He watches me from on high as I pay humble homage to his superiority |
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Then, without a word, he turns and leaves me to rot in the dirt behind him |
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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 |
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I hang my head in humble shame |
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I am not worthy to look at this magnificent, mighty man above his socks! |
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His SOCKS! |
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His SOCKS! |
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Even his SOCKS are better than me! |
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His SOCKS! |