It’s dawn, and my first customer of the day approaches my
lowly foothold – a jogger. She’s one of my regular patrons, but I don’t know
her name. I’m thick like that. And besides, she never speaks to me, other than
to order me to kiss her feet. But I recognise her running sneakers and socks.
Not just by sight, but by smell and taste. I get to recognise all my
regular customers via their footwear!
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| As dawn breaks, a familiar early-morning customer, a jogger, heads towards my foothold |
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| I would recognise her from her running sneakers and socks, even if I couldn't see her face! |
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| The sneakers and socks stop for a breather in front of my confined head. They pose arrogantly in front of me |
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| 'Kiss my foot, slave!' |
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| 'And the other one.' |
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| And, with that, she's gone. Resuming her early-morning fitness jog and leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth... |
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| ...the taste of her running sneakers! |
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