I was standing at the Philadelphia airport this holiday, after dropping off my rental car (An gold Impala that smelled like smoky skunk pee) and I saw a kid climb out of an SUV with a pair of seriously kick-ass red sneakers with Ms on them.
His shoes, how they twinkled.
Those kicks, oh so merry.
And they blazed, as he walked, like the devil (but less scary.)
I considered asking him about them. But that seemed a little too creepy for me - a guy standing on the drop-off curb at the Philadelphia airport, holding a tiny chinese takeout box of candied pecans in one hand, shivering in the friscalating dusklight.
So I stood there on Christmas night WANTING those shoes.
With their red shiny Ms and their way-too-new-ties.
I thought of 'ahems' and 'say there!'s and small lies.
But to inquire of the shoes, twas the thing I coul'n't do.
Away to Zappos, I flew like a flash.
Searching through Madden and other such trash.
I found not a pair, though I'd done all the work.
And now, here I sit, sort of hating that jerk.
The kid with the shoes and the grin and the gleam.
With those shiny red Ms that I see when I dream.
Though red shoes aren't quite what I would pick for myself.
(and Buff would point out that I look like an elf).
Still, to peek at those sneaks made my knees sort of weak.