Black clothes to hide the dirt of your feelings - dirty, dull, and rough.
Eyes darting left to right. Squeeze yourself up like a ball.
Crouched in the corner on the train, making sure you don't touch.
I wonder...
Do your shoes, marked with a P-R-A-D-A, make up your worth?
Do their soles contain your soul?
Are you so proud?
Are you so vain?
Are you so defined?
Oh, Mr. Prada! Kick off those shoes. Touch the ground and breathe and dance.
But most of all you must learn that shoes don't make a man.
3 comments:
Was this a CTA passenger? Eeeeee.
Our sales tax is up to 10.25 for retail and 11.50 for food and bev now. JUST TO LET YOU KNOW... enjoy your 6/5 or whatever it is in our hometown now. Ugh.
If I am still around when your day comes (though given the difference in our ages, the generally higher life expectancy for females, and my desire that we both die serenely at ripe old ages surrounded by loved ones, that seems unlikely), I will weep for having lost you (selfishly, perhaps, and I accept that) and I will laugh for having known you--precisely because you truly have, do, and will continue to live and to love so damn well. You've done well, I judge, taking Ed's lesson and making it your own. You're extraordinary in every way I can think of, and I love you lots.
-- Doug
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