New shoes –
apparently fifty per cent less likely
to chafe your feet.

“Grand”, I thought.

They were still dripping with shots and stills of last night.

(Enter – Cognition beyond the norm but the same routine appears, despite all. Present as not quite replete.)

I was sporting the oldest, newest boots in town.

… Betelgeuse, polka dot, cadence – with not just the least bit of Cordwainer envy as accompaniment.

My head was caught in a soliloquy of:

“Cut me up. Yes please.” Then on to:

“How far can I go with this new kinesis? Can I touch the stars?”

I got a bit weary, and bored to be honest.

I sat down,
and then embraced what I thought to be you.

Of course, I then fell into the most sylvan,
moss-carpeted woodland.

Took my new (old??) boots, very firmly off.

(Exit – Familiar, Salty, Peter-y air).